


Desolation

by skiddlydoobap



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, Murder, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, Sensitive themes, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Survival, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22542973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiddlydoobap/pseuds/skiddlydoobap
Summary: It had been approximately five years since half of South Park was rendered missing in the dead of night.It had taken approximately one year seven months for them to formulate a functioning society once again after being cut off from the rest of the outside world.It had taken approximately twenty minutes for all of the work, all of the heartbreak, to be reopened and decimated once again upon the reappearance of faces long gone and memories long dead.And truly, what else should they have expected?
Relationships: Bebe Stevens/Heidi Turner, Clyde Donovan/Bebe Stevens, Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Eric Cartman/Heidi Turner, Karen McCormick/Craig Tucker's Sister, Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger, Philip "Pip" Pirrip/Damien Thorn, Red/Kevin Stoley, Token Black/Nichole Daniels
Comments: 41
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

Kyle Broflovski hadn’t thought about them for a long time. 

That is to say, if anyone asked him whether or not he consciously pondered their missing loved ones, it would be no lie to say that the effort was never made. 

However, the true question that would catch him, would be-- ‘What reminds you of them?’

Because the answer to those words was, honestly, everything-- every brief moment of every day. Stark’s Pond, his old, creaking house which he hadn’t visited in at least two years-- the small, inadvertent mentions of what was. 

That is to say, no, Kyle never made the effort to think of them. His parents, his brother-- any of them. 

The effort never had to be made. It was the shadows of summer trees, the passing of seasons, the hollowed faces of those who remained as they aged, leaving the rest trapped as youthful faces and squeaky voices. 

But there was one thing that Kyle forced himself to think upon. 

That strange, hazy night, halfway through seventh grade-- bright lights and screams, and suddenly, Kyle had awoken laying haphazardly in the street with smudged writing along his forearms and an empty, broken street to wander. 

He never found the time to think upon it for long. 

“Kyle!” 

There was a blunt smack to the back of his head, nails snagging in his curly ginger hair as they pulled away roughly, eliciting a hiss of pain before he was released. 

“Jesus, I called your name like seven times.” Red huffed at him, unimpressed, sharp and impatient, sporting the cargo pants and woolen jacket she had claimed after last month’s shipment of supplies. 

“That doesn’t mean you can just pull my hair, dude!” Kyle frowned, agitated, knowing that he shouldn’t be content to just sit on a rotting log at their home base; but finding himself unwilling to move anyway. “That hurt like a bitch,” 

“Speaking of bitches,” Red dismissed Kyle’s grievances flippantly, and it wasn’t the first time he wished that the girl hadn’t grown to be so tall-- maybe if he had a few extra inches, she’d take him seriously. “Cartman said he saw Jimbo coasting around the north forest line,” 

Kyle sighed at the mention of one of the last lingering adults, almost all of whom had lost their minds five years previous, and dusted off the dirt along his palms as he stood. “Maybe he’s finally decided that this isn’t Lord of The Flies and wants to join us,”

Red scoffed. “After what he did to Kevin McCormick? As if. He’s lucky Wendy cuts him some slack and gives him a portion of the shipments anyway,” She turned and began to walk eagerly, not turning to see if Kyle bothered to follow, which only further soured his mood. 

“I never said that we’d let him.” Kyle replied stiffly, matching Red’s hasty pace with mild distraction, “I just meant that it’d be nice if he got his head back. One less shitty thing to worry about,” 

“There’s always something shitty to worry about.” Red snapped at him, “Jimbo won’t change that. None of the adults will. Hell, we’ve been parenting ourselves since we were kids anyway,” her eyes drifted up to the ugly, bland wall that caged their town, that prevented their escape. It was too high to climb, and it sat rigidly far beneath the ground-- many had tried to find a way out. Some were still searching, but Kyle knew better than to be optimistic enough to hope for a solution. 

After all, it had appeared overnight-- whoever wanted them there clearly wouldn’t let them out of their hell so easily.

“Do you think that Jimbo’s looking for gunpowder again?” Kyle blinked, uncomfortable at the sudden unprecedented stop, eager for their trek to continue. His belt clung tight around his waist as he fiddled with the knife that resided there. 

“Probably.” Red snorted, taking up the lead on their walk yet again, pretending as though she hadn’t just been fixated by the reminder of their confinement. 

Kyle couldn’t blame her, though. It happened to all of them on occasion-- the sheer size, the mass, the impenetrability. They were used to it by now, of course, but every now and then, it was as though eyes became fresh, as if they were all thirteen again, screaming until the skin of their throats were raw as the realization came that they were trapped; abandoned. 

Kyle swallowed. 

“You know, he’s probably still cleaning all of his guns. Even though he’s out of ammo and shit,” Red’s tone was far from amicable, but the girl’s abrasive nature had somewhat carried since childhood, and Kyle knew that her tone, however moody, wasn’t necessarily intended. “Stupid bastard,” 

Kyle hummed, taking note of the passing trees, looking for any sign of the unwell man lurking about. He knew that they technically weren’t supposed to be on patrol-- that was generally Wendy and Cartman’s thing, but well; the shipment was late, and so there wasn’t much of anything to be done. 

But Cartman, despite all of his nuances, wasn’t a complete idiot. He would have informed someone of his and Red’s whereabouts, and Jimbo hadn’t been a true danger to anyone since he killed Kevin McCormick. 

So then, why was Kyle’s chest so tight? Why was it so hard for him to breathe?

He didn’t understand. But there was no time for musings and useless thoughts, he had to stay focused, had to remain grounded. 

If Red noticed his abnormal behavior she opted not to comment. Instead, they scoured the reported area before looping around their home base’s territory. 

“Should we go report back to the fatass?” Kyle sniffed, kicking a rock with his shoe lazily. 

“He said not to bother him while he’s working unless we want to get our asses kicked or unless it’s something urgent.” Red rolled her eyes, pausing to examine her nails, “So no, probably not. Which is stupid, by the way, because Heidi and Butters are helping get the damn wood, so it’s not like it wouldn’t get done without him,”

“How much do you want to bet he’s just critiquing their chopping abilities?” Kyle found himself on the brink of a grin.

“Naturally, what else would he do?” Red responded good naturedly, before offering a lazy salute in lieu of a goodbye, most likely running off to see if Token had any news regarding the latest supply drop off. 

In her absence, Kyle’s eyes wandered, taking in the state of their small array of huts and buildings, noting the distant rumble of voices and sounds of life. 

They really hadn’t done so badly. 

If you were to ask anyone about their situation, they would probably lament about all of the bads, about the pain they’d endured for no reason other than not having any other option. 

And well, they certainly weren’t wrong. But Butters liked to think that, even in the face of their adversities, things had worked out well. 

For starters, their death count was surprisingly low-- amongst themselves, anyway-- and the resources they attained intermittently provided enough materials for the little village they had accumulated. Most of their houses were generally unused, seeing as it was easier for everyone to stay together (it was also easier to move on from the past when it wasn’t staring you in the face) but when the winter became too harsh they huddled away from the elements at Token’s, and truthfully, they really hadn’t done so badly. 

Butters tried to keep this in mind as he felt the sweat beading on his forehead and the stinging of his arms as he swung the hatchet down yet again. 

“Eric, don’t you think we should take a break?” Heidi indulged in her boyfriend with a voice that was strained from effort, but not completely whiney. 

Cartman himself was busied with his own wood, his larger frame refusing to turn as he gruffly responded, “The damn tool shed is rotting, and we’re not stopping until we have enough to replace it!” 

“We don’t have enough nails, we have to wait until we’ve sorted through the latest stuff,” Heidi straightened, redoing her ponytail, before crouching down in front of her stump. 

“And do you see the ‘latest stuff’ anywhere, Heidi?” Cartman spoke with obvious contempt, unwilling to back away from the task at hand. 

“Exactly! If we can’t even finish--”

“It’ll be here by the end of the day, respect my authori--”

“Well, gee, you guys, it doesn’t have to be all or nothin’, does it?” Butters scratched his head upon feeling both of their gazes turn to him, “We could rest a bit, and then get right back to work, you know? I mean, look at us, we’re already over halfway done! I reckon by noon we’ll be--”

“See, Heidi? If we keep working we’ll be done by noon.” Cartman gestured towards the growing pile of wood. 

“You didn’t even let him finish, Eric!” Heidi’s pale face flushed. “This is exactly why Kyle and Wendy and the rest didn’t like you when we were kids!” 

“That’s not true, they totally liked me! They were just jealous,” 

“Jealous of what, Eric?” 

“Oh, come on now,” Butters was truly tiring of hearing their lover’s quarrels every twenty minutes, but attempted not to let it show as he offered a small smile. “We don’t need to fight, now-- why don’t we take shifts? One person on break for a bit while the other two work, see?” Butters grinned, “No matter what we do, I know we’ll get done! It’s not that much, really, since we’re workin’ together and all,” 

There were some sounds of affirmation as Cartman agreed to let Heidi have the first rest shift. Butters found it sweet how after all these years he still acted as if he didn’t care much about the wellbeing of others, but he had shaped up as much as everyone else, knowing that, despite it remaining unspoken, they had filled the absences that were left behind by banding closer together. 

But then, Cartman and Heidi began to talk, and Cartman’s grip along his axe began to slip, leaving them both to their own conversation as Butters felt the chill of winter settling deep into his bones. 

His eyes drifted to the wood laying at his feet.  
Butters had been fortunate enough to have not lost his parents-- at least, not entirely. 

Much like the rest of the remaining adults, his parents were mentally unwell. Still shaken and never quite recovered, they had kept Butters trapped in the house for two weeks after the event, his friends having believed him to be one of the many missing, didn’t bother to attempt a rescue. 

So he had jumped out of his bedroom window-- daring only to come back with those who would assist him when emotions ran high and his parents threatened to ground him. They still did, every now and again, but more than anything, Butters pitied them. Trapped in the past, confused, unable to be held accountable for how they had treated him throughout his adolescence. But Butters was eighteen now, and even though they were a sad sight to see, he was perfectly capable of handling himself against them.

Which is why his eyes still studied the small stack of wood at his feet, which is why his thoughts drifted to the cold, how chilly his parents must be. 

Butters couldn’t say that he liked his parents. 

But, well-- leaving them would be cruel, and despite their questionable parenting, they hadn’t raised a cruel son. 

Butters scooped up a small amount of wood, leaving Heidi and Cartman to their conversation as he hurriedly trekked down the familiar path of run down houses and cluttered streets, taking careful note to avoid the places where strange figures lingered, before striding into his house with ease. 

He had been right about the unfortunate weather. His house was still freezing, and unsettlingly quiet. There was a brief squeak of the mice family that now made themselves home, a gentle lull of distant snores. 

Butters was thankful that his parents seemed to take to sleeping in on colder days. He was in no mood to have to hear their tangents and accusations, to realize yet again that they were still just as lost as before, with no sense of guidance, no compass to follow. Part of Butters had longed for the chance to explain their circumstance, but with every word he spoke their shouts had increased in volume, until they broke him down to the grounded, sad little boy they loved as their son. 

He stalked over to the fireplace, placing the wood in carefully so as not to wake his folks, before digging through his pockets for the pack of spare matches he had tucked away before dawn. 

Once the fire was stable and warm, Butters held out his hands to catch some of the heat, before humming quietly and escaping back into the cold. 

There was a sudden thrumming, loud and unable to be ignored, coming in quickly overhead. Butters blocked the sun with his hand as he narrowed his eyes, hoping to make out the dark, blurred outline of something familiar with his poor eyesight. 

The chopper was back, hanging a large wooden crate down from thick ropes, flying down closer to the ground, preparing for dropoff by the pond. 

Butters picked up his pace-- Cartman was going to be urging their finish now, after all, and truthfully, Butters had other plans aside from chopping wood until sundown. 

He wondered why his limbs felt so heavy.

Tweek was jittery. 

And it wasn’t because of his cold breath fanning out in front of him, or the food shortage that was unlikely to get better with infertile winter soil, or the loud whirring of the helicopter he could hear in the distance. 

Tweek was jittery because unlike everyone else, he fought to preserve his memories. He counted the days, used the school’s excess amount of chalkboards for numbering, keeping constant track of how much time had passed, of how many days, since everything had been lost. 

Tweek was jittery because it was the fifth anniversary of everything he cared for being ruined. 

And no one knew except for him. 

It had been hard-- finding ways to cope with the sudden shortage of his closest friends, their limited connection with the outside world, the understanding that his supply of coffee would soon deplete, the realization that they were all truly and undeniably alone. 

So Tweek counted. 

He studied, he read, he twitched and he cursed his way through the last five desperate years of his life, ransacking abandoned houses, finding old memoirs and photographs, middle school textbooks and formulas he despised but learned anyway, if only because he was always aching to be on the move-- the fear of permanent stagnation sending him spiralling down, because he simply couldn’t escape it. 

Token, Kyle and Wendy had taken up his interest in attempting to soothe the ache by learning what they would never be taught. It was difficult, it was mundane, but aside from survival, it was all they had. 

Aside from the past, Tweek’s collection was everything to him. Stored away in a coffee shop with barred windows and dirtied floors, stained and worn, there was a creaky back room stuffed with boxes of small knick knacks and scattered notes detailing melancholy fondness that he was terrified of forgetting. 

Tweek didn’t want to further lose the people he had lost-- he was fearful of what knowledge he had lost already; the events of that night were so foggy, so demented. 

He was slouched in the workroom of his childhood, days spent laboring on chores as he sorted through what he had amassed over the years-- an annual event indulged in by his lonesome, a space for him to breathe, to pretend as though he was twelve again and everything was okay.

Nothing would ever be okay again. 

Still, he was luckier than most. His mother had remained behind, distant and airy and utterly bland, as if the life in her had been evaporated-- but she was there just the same. Tweek visited her daily, brought her his share of food and comfort, the only things he could provide. In the beginning, he had attempted to sleep in the comfort of his own home, away from the others, much like they too had attempted; but it was futile. 

They couldn’t sleep in their own houses anymore, not with them feeling so empty. 

But the spaces were filled by small whispers and midnight weeping, of children bonded by loss, growing up through the remainder of adolescence as a community. 

They were family, now.

Tweek’s thoughts finally drifted upon the labelled box he had been fervently searching for. Scribbly, traumatized writing that was slanted and messy, put together by a boy who had just discovered his missing childhood love. 

Craig’s name still brought upon the kind of tight chested ache that Tweek couldn’t describe. He was gone, he would never be returning, that much Tweek had forced himself to comprehend-- but God, sometimes his mind still drifted. 

Tricia Tucker was thirteen now, and in the wake of her brother’s absence she had grown to be someone Tweek knew he would be proud of, even if Craig would have never dared to say the words aloud. He and Tricia had taken to comforting one another, to sharing small recollections and brief stories, and she was the only person Tweek had offered to share his assortment with. He had put off going through Craig’s belongings, having assumed that his sister would have wanted them, that they would be in her grasp alone. 

She had refused delicately with two simple words. 

“I can’t,” 

And she never did. 

Tweek poked through the stuffy cardboard, smiling softly at outfits thrown sloppily together for their childhood games, examining little drawings and doodles exchanged in their classes. Sarcastic gag gifts and holiday cards, a clay astronaut figure, a handful of glow in the dark stars. 

But there was one thing in particular that Tweek was searching for. 

Craig’s blue, worn chullo hat, complete with small patches of slightly discolored wool and frayed string endings. It had been abandoned on Craig’s bedroom floor, flopped over and pathetic looking in the early morning hours of complete devastation. 

After Stripe’s death a year into their predicament it had become his most prized possession, and Tweek ran his fingers along the material, feeling that familiar dryness of his throat and unexplainable lightheadedness. 

There was the sudden rush of heavy footfalls that startled Tweek out of his skin as the front door to the shop was slammed open eagerly. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” 

Shit, had Jimbo really lost it again? The shop had already had everything useful taken out of it, there wasn’t anything for anyone here, oh God, who could that be? Everyone knew how he spent his mornings, being pitiful and away, stuck in the past, stuck mourning, stuck, stuck--

“Tweek,” 

Tricia pushed the door open with a flushed face and tears dripping down her cheeks as she clutched at a heaving chest. 

Tweek was up on his feet immediately, catching the smaller girl in his arms as she practically collapsed into his grasp, a trembling mess of light gasps and indistinguishable words. “Shit, God, nngh-- deep breaths, remember? Deep breaths,” Tweek moved to pat her head, as had become a habit of theirs when she became visibly distressed, but the girl stepped backwards, tripping over a box and landing harshly against the flooring. 

“Je-Jesus, fuck!” Tweek shoved the heap of cardboard to the left with his foot, “Tricia! What’s wrong? I need you to talk to me,” he crouched down, pulled her up, steadied her with his hands pressed along her shoulders. 

Tweek hadn’t seen her lose her composure this way in years-- his stomach churned, heavy with dread. God, had someone died? Who, how? They couldn’t handle that, none of them could, how could things never fail to get worse, why couldn’t life cut them a single break, why, why, why--

“Tweek.” Tricia grabbed at his sleeves with wide, teary eyes and a wobbly, uneven voice. She shook her head, unable to speak, pulling at his clothing roughly, “Tweek!” 

Tweek allowed himself to be pulled away, could feel panic rising up from within him, ugly and deprecating. She walked briskly, as fast as she could manage with her shaky knees, and God, what could have happened?

“Tricia, please, nngh! Give me something!” Tweek knew panic, it was an old friend, having haunted him since he was a child, made him flinch and scream and cry until the early hours of the morning. 

And he still twitched and stayed up until dawn, he still craved the caffeine he could never find, he still startled out his skin and screamed on occasion. 

But it had been a long time since he had felt so much like his child self. 

“They’re back,” Tricia gasped the words, a whisper cutting the air between them, jagged and broken. 

“Shit, I don’t-- I don’t get what you’re saying, Trish.” Tweek felt the urge to scratch at his skin, but was prevented from doing so by the white grip that was entwined with his. 

No, that couldn’t be right. They were gone-- lost in some conspiracy, all the craziness had finally claimed South Park for the worst and that was all, they were gone, they were gone, they were never coming back, Tweek had prayed every night for two years to faiths he didn’t believe in, they were gone, they--

“They’re back,” Tricia gazed back at him, as if to convey the understanding that she couldn’t put into words, the sobs catching in her throat. “Tweek,”

And then they were running. 

Tweek hadn’t known he could run so fast. Tricia matched his pace, clumsy and breathless and quivering, past the houses, down the streets, past the school, down through the trees and branches that whipped their faces and cut their jackets, tripping over rocks and still staying on their feet until they emerged into the clearing where the monthly delivery was always waiting. 

There was a crowd. 

Heidi clung to Cartman, whiter than Tweek had ever seen her, Cartman staring ahead with an air of uncertain silence.  
Token stood, rigid and blank, accompanied by a panicked Karen McCormick, who caught Tricia’s stare and instinctively pulled her closer, the latter girl gently releasing her hold on Tweek’s hand. 

Red peered over the shoulder of Kevin Stoley, brow furrowed, her stance swaying ever so slightly. 

Wendy was on her knees, sitting on the grassy slope, her hair falling into messy strands outside of her bun and God, Tweek had never heard her cry like that. 

Kyle was cradling something, just a few mere feet away, and Tweek couldn’t draw his eyes away from the unsteady heaving of his shoulders. 

Butters must have seen Tweek from his position simply overlooking the impossibility that was laying in front of their very feet, because he approached him with purpose, tugging him closer and away from the back, and he really, truly, couldn’t breathe. 

There were eight of them, there. Ghosts from the past, reminders of what had been, unconscious and aged, they sat limply, hair splayed out from their faces, limbs slacking and faces peaceful. 

It had been a long time since Tweek had truly and utterly lost himself to his harmful impulses. 

But he caught his hair roughly in his hands and tugged harder than ever before, tears of pain and tears of confusion streaming hotly down his cheeks and stinging harshly from the cold, his throat raw and sore from the shriek that tore itself up from his chest. 

It had been approximately five years since half of South Park was rendered missing in the dead of night. 

It had taken approximately one year seven months for them to formulate a functioning society once again after being cut off from the rest of the outside world. 

It had taken approximately twenty minutes for all of the work, all of the heartbreak, to be reopened and decimated once again upon the reappearance of faces long gone and memories long dead. 

And truly, what else should they have expected?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Token had once said that it was dangerous to want things. 
> 
> But when she saw him lying there, all freckle faced and open mouthed, Karen couldn’t help herself.   
> Kenny had always said that she was too sensitive for her own good. 
> 
> And then there was stirring.

The walk to Token’s was too risky. If word got out among those outside of their settlement that some of the missing had returned, things could go from confusing to dangerous very quickly. Not to mention that the odds of them managing to transport the bodies without being seen was outstandingly low, and so, truthfully, they weren’t quite sure what to make of the situation.

Winter was the hardest and longest season-- no seeds to plant, no warmth to be found. They had to use their resources wisely, and frankly, the sudden re-emergence of their past was unlikely to do them any favors in this regard; and Token was just thankful that those who had returned were the ones they had missed. 

The town’s resources were split into two shipments that arrived within days of each other, one by Stark’s Pond, where they had made camp-- and the other down by South Park’s abandoned shops and businesses, where remaining figures lingered, prickly and unsettling. The only ones among them who went there regularly were Tweek and Butters, the former coffee addict still frequenting his family coffee house, but Token trusted him enough to know that he had grown from the twitchy, screaming boy they knew as children and could manage to go perfectly unharmed. Butters skirted just on the edges whenever he visited his parents, which still admittedly worried them all; but Butters too had proven that there was more to him than seeming innocence. 

They all had acquired edges to them. They carried weapons, they withheld secrets, they would make harsh decisions if they had to, just as they had done in the past. 

The past was viewed through rose tinted lenses. It was mystified, admired, kept away from the forefront of their minds--

Because how dangerous it was to dream. To want, to long for what was out of their hands. 

Token had theories. He suspected some kind of government interference, perhaps the strange activity of South Park had began to attract too much national attention, perhaps it was a coverup, perhaps they were all truly meant to die here. 

So he didn’t understand the shipments, the missing, the returns-- Token didn’t understand. 

But he supposed that there was no room for understanding when eight bodies were currently spread out in the confinement of their shed. 

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” Cartman bristled, more perturbed than Token had seen him in years, his fear cowering behind his loud words and abrasive tone. “It’s too damn cold out here. The sun is going down, and we can’t get to Token’s if we carry them,” 

During the colder nights, an agreement had been made to risk confrontation and journey to the shelter of Token’s housing. It was large enough for them all to have a place to rest, and certainly warmer than sleeping outside like they did during the spring and summer months. His house had already been robbed of anything useful, and the other homes were a bit too close to the part of town that most avoided-- Butters and Tweek aside, no one had any reason to willingly go into town, and few were willing to sleep so close to the adults. 

“We have more important things to worry about!” Wendy, not for the first time, voiced her distress. “Does no one want to know why they’re here? What if more people come back? Will they send more resources, or will we have to make cuts?” 

Next to him, Butters was muttering worriedly. “Oh, Gee, that’d be bad, huh? ‘Specially if the adults start comin’ around. We wouldn’t want to have to force anyone away, but Golly, we couldn’t feed everyone--” 

“No one else has shown up. We can’t focus on that now,” Red pinched the bridge of her nose, “We solve this first, and then we talk about what comes next.” her eyes strayed to where Kyle sat, unmoving and blank faced from his position atop a frost covered stump. Tricia and Karen were whispering to one another, the latter girl unable to have calmed her tears, and Tweek had vanished amiss the chaos, most likely attempting to gather himself after his breakdown. 

Token would have to look for him later once they all settled. He knew that the blonde was perfectly capable of being alone, but it was distressing to think that he wouldn’t know where to find them all, depending on where, exactly, they chose to go. 

“My house is the closest. We’ll go in groups to make things easier,” Red continued, her breath fanning out in front of her, sentences wavering. Token was unsure of whether it was from shock or the frigid temperature.

“I’m staying with Ike.” Kyle spoke, brittle and weary. “I’ll carry him,” 

Kyle’s brother had maintained his raven hair, the boy being roughly thirteen or so, now-- Token wasn’t exactly sure. 

“We’ll have to leave some people here,” Heidi coughed, pressing lightly into Cartman’s side, “It’ll be hard for everyone to carry one person, so some of us will have to stay and keep watch until they’re all at Red’s,” 

“We’ll do it.” Tricia played with the ends of Karen’s hair with shaky fingers, but she spoke with the kind of hardened resolve that reminded Token of her brother. “Heidi, you should stay with Karen and I. Three is a good lookout number,” 

“We should really get going, then.” Kevin Stoley moved towards the shed that housed their unconscious companions, the only hint of life being the vague heat of their skin and the falls of their chests. He pulled the flimsy door open with ease, prying upon the shoulders of a particular brunette Token knew well. “Red, you’ll need to carry Jimmy’s crutches,” 

Token wasn’t sure what to make of that. Jimmy’s crutches couldn’t have grown with him, not with his current height, meaning that they had been replaced.

Meaning that whoever had taken them clearly had at least desired his mobility.

“Right on.” Red lifted the pieces of metal easily, pausing for Kyle, who stepped over a few limbs with care as he scooped up his brother into his arms for the first time in half a decade. 

“The rest of you should wait a bit before leaving.” Kyle was still strained, but it was relieving to see how his directive presence was resurfacing. “It’ll be better that way, less chance of being seen,”

Token didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered upon those he was leaving. 

“Geez, this sure is surprising, isn’t it?” Butters giggled, nervous and shaken. “Do you think we ought to look for Tweek?” 

Token found it difficult to respond, getting the sudden urge to shut himself away and just forget the rest. It was all so much, so strange, and God, he had never thought of himself as feeble or weak, but this day was particularly full of surprises, as Butters had so eloquently put.

After He had broken himself out of his imprisonment, it had been Butters who had dragged Tweek out of his busted coffee shop by the fabric of his shirt collar. Since then, the two had grown closer, seeming to have a silent understanding of something that Token wasn’t quite sure of. 

The sound of frozen ground crunching drew away his musings, signalling the first group’s departure. “After we move them. Tweek won’t know where to go if we’re not here or at my place,” 

“We could get him now, right?” Wendy blinked, her hair falling in messy strands from her updo. “He could help us,” 

“I don’t know how much help he’ll be right now.” Token chose his words carefully, not wishing to say anything insulting about his friend, “He’s not handling this well. I think he needs some time, he hasn’t snapped like that in awhile,” 

“Damn spazz.” Cartman sniffed, “We all need some fucking time. This shit is crazy, why does he get to--”

“You should think before you keep talking.” Token gritted his teeth, refusing to give Cartman the satisfaction of witnessing him get successfully bothered. He had matured, albeit less than the rest of them, but the asshole within him never did fail to surface during times of crucial crisis. 

“He’ll be back soon,” Tricia’s stare didn’t meet any of them, her concentration placed fully into the task that was braiding Karen’s hair, “Tweek will want to see Craig,” 

Token swallowed.

It had been a long time since he had heard that name spoken aloud. 

Cartman, evidently bored of biding their time, shuffled over and hoisted up a tanned boy with a mop of blonde hair in a way that could almost be described as gentle. And as much as Token had come to accept his constant dislike for Cartman over the years, he could give credit where credit was due. 

Cartman still cared about those he was close to, whether it be present or past. 

“Be careful with him!” Karen’s meek comment made the large figure slow his movements slightly, and he regarded her with a show of contempt as his grip tightened along her brother.

“Yeah, obviously. What the hell are the rest of you losers waiting on?” Cartman’s aggrieved questioning spurred Wendy into action as she eagerly sought out curly blonde hair and pallid skin. 

The girl was toned and fit from her constant flurry of movements and exercise, so she lifted Bebe bridal style in a way that only vaguely indicated her flustered state over the entire ordeal. “I was waiting on you to get out of the way, Cartman, since no one can get by you anyway,” 

Heidi sighed at the dig directed towards her long time boyfriend, but failed to negate the tension after having accepted the notion that the two would be after one another’s throats until the day they died. Wendy and Heidi were still close, but Cartman would always seem to remain as a barrier that sat between them, and Token wondered if their grudges were truly so skin deep.

Token’s eyes failed to lock onto one particular person, and the guilt that stabbed through his chest stole his breath. They were rough looking, scarred, some more well off than others. He hadn’t peered at anyone particularly, but seeing them so close, so real--

It was hard to find the right state of mind for Token to steel himself. 

Releasing his held breath, Token looked down upon a stocky, familiar figure, feeling something deep stirring within him as he pulled the boy up onto his shoulder. 

Clyde had grown up well, given the circumstances, and Token wishes he could have been with him to have seen it all play out. 

Butters huffed with the effort of lifting a girl with ebony skin and peaceful features, her coiled hair pulled tightly back, away from her face. 

Nichole wasn’t as Token had remembered, but then she was, and maybe he was staring, maybe his grip was beginning to slack, and maybe Token was growing restless. 

They stumbled upon the returning group on their way to Red’s. Kyle was ansty, wringing his hands, “We’ve laid them down in the living room.” He regarded the figures they were transporting before continuing, “There’s two left, right?”

“Yeah, Jesus, can we get a move on?” Cartman brushed by eagerly, ignoring the look of fatal contempt painted across Kyle’s features. “I’d like to get to settle down at Token’s before the night is over,”

“Why the hell would you want to do that, Cartman?”

Kyle’s temper was limited enough, and Token resented the notion of he and Cartman having a screaming match at this hour. 

“Because if no one’s there then that leaves it open. Those other fuckers might claim it for themselves,” Cartman replied casually, as if Kyle was slow for not have figured it out sooner. 

Token didn’t find Cartman’s reasoning to be all that likely, but he supposed that the point was fair enough. There hadn’t been any initial interest in his house since the first winter when they had laid claim to it themselves, but Token knew that some of the other survivors made plenty of use of it during summer while they were away at Stark’s Pond-- there were numerous people who would be willing to fight them for it if they didn’t find it in use, and Token was in no mood for combat. 

“Cartman and Heidi and I will stay there.” Token could feel his limbs growing heavier with every passing moment, “We shouldn’t waste more time. These guys could be waking any minute now, and I doubt that having them in the woods would help their shock,”

Token hastened his pace to match Cartman’s, unwilling to wait for a reply, hearing the sound of Butters and Wendy eagerly following his lead as he went. 

They reached Red’s within a few minutes, opting for entering through the back as Wendy placed Bebe onto the ground so she could open the door. 

The living room was musty from misuse and crowded with long limbed sleeping teenagers. They dropped off their cargo with tired hands, the silence heavy and cumbersome.

“Token, do you reckon I could stay at yours, too?” Butters’ polite nature held an edge to it, “I think I need a breather. Bet you don’t want to be by yourself with those lovebirds anyway,” he smiled good naturedly, but it failed to reach his eyes.

Token nodded, weakly. “We still have to find--”

“I’ll get Tweek.” Token startled slightly, having not heard Tricia and Karen enter. “Heidi and the rest are on their way back here, so Karen and I will get him. There’s only two places he’ll be, anyway,” 

Wendy frowned, “It’s one thing to go around town during the day, but at night? You two should stay here. I’m sure Tweek will show up by morning,” 

“We do it all the time.” Tricia argued back stiffly, her eyes narrowing upon seeing the dark look that crossed Token’s features as he opened his mouth-- the girl interrupting him before he could reprimand them both. “Don’t get mad just because you didn’t know. That means we do a good job. And anyway, it’s usually just me. Karen stays behind most of the time,” 

Token would have to talk to Tweek later about the midnight roamings of thirteen year old girls. 

Karen blanched at that, her face coloring. “I-it’s not that I’m scared or anything!” her newly done braid moved as she shook her head, “And you shouldn’t go alone right now, since things are so weird,” 

“You shouldn’t come just because you think you have to, Kare. Besides, I know you want to stay here with Kenny,” 

Karen’s hazel eyes were brimming with unshed tears, “Tricia…” 

Wendy bent down to comfort the younger girls, and Token slowly inched his way to the back door, deciding that now was as good a time as ever to leave. Cartman was leaning up against the back door, having left the house immediately after setting his former friend down. 

Kyle, Red and Kevin were accompanied by Heidi as they returned-- Kyle and Kevin both forced to put in the effort to carry one outrageously gangly set of limbs, cursing all the while, while Heidi and Red shared the weight of yet another dark haired figure. 

And that was when it finally hit him. 

They were back. God, eight of them, kids they hadn’t seen since the seventh fucking grade, all grown and scarred, with their own changed minds and warped experiences. 

Token didn’t wait for Cartman or Heidi as he stalked back to his home. The night was quiet, the creeping of his emotions quieter, and Token hadn’t realized he was crying until he felt the cruel sting of cold against his wet face. 

And, not for the first time, he loathed on the reminder that life truly wasn’t fair. 

“So you’ll stay here. I’m going to run upstairs for something, and when I come back, you’ll still be sitting there, right?” Wendy’s gaze was imploring, filled with caution. 

Tricia nodded. The room was crowded, Kyle was sitting by his brother and Stan, his gaze never settling on one for too long. Red and Kevin had retired to her bedroom, the former ruffling her cousin’s hair before offering a smile of pure exhaustion. 

So really, the only person who remained to keep Tricia stationary was Wendy. Kyle wouldn’t have the time or the motivation to go chasing after her now, that much was certain. 

Tricia could feel Karen eyeing her warily, knowing her too well, knowing that she wouldn’t keep her word. But, well, Token had left already, the boy most likely understanding that nothing would stop Tricia’s blatant defiance, and accepting that the matter was for another time. This left her and her alone to bring her brother like figure for the past few years to where they were staying. 

Tweek would want to see Craig. 

And Jesus, Tricia had always remembered him towering slightly over the other kids, but her brother had finally grown into that dumb nose and big ears she use to bother him about. Thick brows and a hardened expression, coarse hair and tattered clothing, not enough meat on him for Tricia’s liking. 

He was back.

After all the time she spent pushing him away. The ghosts of painful memories, the conversations she refused to have with Tweek if only because they would break her, the dumb guinea pig that had died a year after he left that had sent her into a state of depression. 

Her dumb, lanky brother was laying there, just a few feet away, containing the fragmented pieces of whatever misery they had been through. 

Wendy stepped over Clyde and Jimmy, kneeling down in front of Kyle to push curly hair out of his face. “Make sure she doesn’t leave, please?” 

Kyle seemed to soften a bit at the touch. “Sure thing, Wends.” 

Wendy finally inches towards the staircase, eyes narrowed, before she turned and ascended slowly. 

Tricia could feel a pair of green eyes watching her every slight movement. 

There was a brief moment of eye contact between the two. An understanding, an agreement to not disturb the peace. 

Tricia scrambled upwards, tumbling off of her place on the sofa and sprinting for the back door. Kyle, cursing, eagerly sought after her, but was sent clumsily onto the floor due to the unfortunate placement of Jimmy’s crutches, which just so happened to be pushed in his way by a sweet girl with hazel eyes-- and really, who would ever suspect such foul play?

Tricia welcomed the biting, wintry air, feeling the hammer she kept tucked in her jacket jostle as she ran. 

No one was quite as good as Tweek when it came to remaining unseen, but Tricia still possessed the gift of lithe quickness, being able to easily flit between narrow walkways and hide behind leftover garbage cans and recycling bins, able to push her way in and out of front yard bushes and decoratively placed trees until she reached her first destination. 

Tricia’s eyes scanned the surrounding area with caution. There didn’t seem to be any late night lurkers wandering about-- no hint of movement, no shuffling of clothing. She briskly darted across the street, sliding into Tweak Bro’s with practiced expertise. The windows were boarded shut, and most of the chairs and tables had been stolen for personal use, but there was still a hint of familiarity within the store itself that made Tricia nostalgic. 

She and Craig would come after Red Racer on school days to pick up Tweek, whose shift started after school and ended at five. They would walk around and kick rocks, Craig would complain about Tricia’s presence, Tweek would scold him for it, they’d walk to the park, to Token’s, to--

Tricia gently peeked into the backroom, unsurprised to find things looking more cluttered than usual. She poked around, looking for messy blonde strands, softly calling out her long time friend’s name. She happened upon the box that was labelled with her brother’s name, and when she swallowed and forced herself to look upon it, Tricia knew that Tweek had been here already.

Because the chullo hat that she had told Tweek to keep wasn’t there. Everything else, however-- silly drawings and notes, polaroid pictures with Tricia in the background-- it was left.   
Sighing, Tricia gathered herself and exited swiftly. 

There was only one place Tweek would go with something he cared for so much. 

Tricia’s feet didn’t stop carrying her until she was standing outside of her own house, red faced and breathless, as she entered. 

It felt just as empty as it had when there had been four people living there. The Tuckers, they had never really been the best at expressing emotion, at expressing feelings and doubts in healthy ways. They bottled their problems and expelled their anger, as if it were a mantra, denying accountability and passing their rage onto their children. 

But they had all been taken from Tricia, and she hated the reminder, so she tended to avoid it, and the knowledge that anyone in her family would have done the same only furthered her frustration. 

But to Tweek, this house was home. The walls contained more love and acknowledgement than he could have ever hoped for. And it was true-- her parents had liked Tweek, a lot. Sometimes Tricia had resented him for it, feeling as though he was treated better despite not being her parent’s child. 

And then she had walked by one night, when Craig’s door was just barely ajar, as her brother had sat there and comforted the blonde as he cried about how his parents never listened, always pretended, always forgot. 

And, well. 

Maybe they all had their own things to deal with. 

Tricia felt her legs climb the stairs, but couldn’t register the feeling. Tweek only retreated to Craig’s room when things got incredibly rough, once recalling that he used to go because the room still smelled like him, and then recalling that he wished he could somehow preserve the scent. 

And he was there, face illuminated by plastic glowing ceiling stars, just sitting on soda stained carpet and staring at the fabric in his hands as if it somehow contained an answer. 

Tricia joined him, wordlessly, overwhelmed by being forced into the past. In her eyes, Craig had never grown past thirteen-- alien posters plastered about and space themed bed sheets still sitting all dusty and crumpled, it was difficult to imagine him as he was now.

And distantly, somewhere in the scarier parts of her mind, Tricia wondered if she still knew him. 

She didn’t know if she was ready to find out. 

Karen had never stopped missing him. 

She and Kenny, they had always just fostered this special connection that Kevin never had. Kenny was intelligent and sly, charming and too mischievous for his own good, but he had treated Karen like a princess as much as he could. His friends were stupid and mean, Karen had always thought, and whenever they made Ken do cruel things for money he had always spent it on her. 

When Kenny had started middle school, he finally revealed who Mysterion was, and she only came to appreciate her brother even more for it.

When everything went to hell, it was still so hard without him, even with Kevin around. Kevin was older and more ambitious than them, refusing to listen to reason and compromise, but part of Karen still wonders if his murder came down to his understanding that she would have never grieved over him the way she did for Kenny. 

Still, she couldn’t seem to stop her tears. Every few minutes she felt the loneliness of the past five years slip down from her eyes and rub raw at the tender skin of her cheeks. 

Kyle hadn’t tried very hard to catch Tricia, and he had shot Karen a knowing glare, much to the girl’s dismay. Out of Kenny’s friends, he had always been the smartest. 

When Wendy had returned in just a few short minutes, she hadn’t seemed very surprised, just observed the room with furrowed brows as she took her place beside Kyle, the two casting stares towards Stan, who was sandwiched between Bebe and Clyde in the middle of the room. 

They were sleeping, now. Wendy’s head on Kyle’s shoulder, his own head resting atop hers, his fingers still curled within Ike’s loose grip. 

Karen, more than anything, just wanted Kenny to wake up; to explain to her what had happened, that everything would be alright, to smile that same crooked, toothy grin that all the girls had seemed to swoon over. She wanted to see him in an orange parka that would never fit now, wanted to hear him speak in a muffled voice, wanted him to laugh at perverted jokes that went over Karen’s head. 

Token had once said that it was dangerous to want things. 

But when she saw him lying there, all freckle faced and open mouthed, Karen couldn’t help herself.   
Kenny had always said that she was too sensitive for her own good. 

And then there was stirring. 

It started out as a groan, a twitch of fingers and the sudden bending of a leg, until Kenny McCormick surged upwards, startled and wide eyed, blinking in confusion before his features finally settled upon the girl who was watching him in awe.

“...Karebear.” His voice was hoarse, deeper than it had been, his hair still keeping it’s typical messy style. He scooted closer, hands cupping her face, “My God, look at you, Kare! You’ve gotten so big,” he cooed at her, just as he did when they were younger, hiding away from their dad’s beer bottles being thrown about. “Everything will be fine, Kare. I’m here again, I told you I’d never leave you for too long,” 

The stupor that had come over her broke, until Karen was biting her lip to soothe her whimpers, until she was being crushed into a hug that contained all of the things that neither of them could currently express, as she buried her face into the fabric of a shirt that was far too thin for the cold. “Ken,” 

“I know, Karebear.” He stroked her hair, “It’s okay,” 

“What happened?” Karen could hardly breathe. “Why did you leave me here, Kenny? None of us can remember what happened that night,” she hiccuped in between her clumsy, sob induced words. 

Kenny’s movements halted, if only for a moment, before he pulled back to gaze at his sister, expression serious. “You don’t remember?” 

“No!” Karen wiped at her eyes, “No, Ken. Please,”

“Hey,” Kenny’s thumb brushed at her tears, “Hush, Karen. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. When the others wake up, it’ll be okay. Let’s wait to talk until then, yeah?” 

Karen sniffed, attempting to muffle her cries with her sleeve so as not to wake Kyle and Wendy. She laid her head against his chest weakly, forgoing a reply as her brother’s arms circled around her, protective and firm, just as it had been when they were young.

Karen would always be grateful for the affection shown to her by Tricia and the others. In fact, Tricia’s hugs and touches were some of her favorite things. 

But little else could compare to Kenny. 

“Say,” Kenny spoke into the top of her head, “Where’s Kevin?” 

Karen could feel her words catching in her throat. She shivered, “Kenny?” 

“Yeah?”

“Kevin’s dead,” 

Karen could feel his grip tightened drastically as Kenny pulled away to stare at her, dumbfounded. “What?” 

Kenny and Kevin had never gotten along. They were opposites, equally strong willed, both never failing to remind the other of their shortcomings, both never failing to become physical with one another when arguments took bitter, violent turns. 

None of that meant that Kenny had wanted his brother to die. 

“You said we’d talk when everyone else woke up.” Karen could feel her bottom lip trembling, “I don’t think I can explain it right now, Ken,” 

Kenny was beginning to look sick, his gaze intense and silent before he gave an eventual answer, his internal debate seeming to have been decided. “...Alright, Kare.” He patted her head, “You should rest, you know. I’ll still be here when you wake up,” 

Karen averted her eyes to a small cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. “I’m not tired,”

“That’s bull, Karen, don’t give me that.” Kenny put an arm around her, “See? You’ll be able to feel it if I move, so you can sleep,” 

Karen allowed her head to fall onto her brother’s shoulder despite herself. “What about you?”

“Karen, I don’t even know what day it is, I just woke up from sleeping for who knows how long?” She didn’t have to look up to know he was grinning. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry about it,”

Karen could feel her eyes slipping shut, and even as she fought against them, even as she fought to listen in on her breathing, living brother, her exhaustion had managed to catch her at long last.

While Karen slept, she dreamt of childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got one more pre written chapter before I start posting regularly :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Token hummed, “It makes you wonder, though,” he pointed at the group of girls that had been conjoined since this morning, at Kyle and Cartman’s barely visible forms through the trees, gesticulating heatedly, at Wendy and Stan sitting knee to knee as they whispered fondly to one another. “If anything ever really changes at all,”

Stan’s head was pounding against his skull, pain pointed and sharp, his ears ringing fatally as he struggled to sit himself upright.

There was an initial feeling of panic that welled up in his chest before his eyes adjusted to the dark room around him, before his eyes fell upon the familiar figures strewn about. 

He didn’t know where they were. 

He couldn’t think, couldn’t recall getting there-- Stan racked his brain, pulling his face out of his hands-- goddamn, his head was killing him. 

Stan couldn’t remember. 

Shit, fuck, not again. 

He could feel the events that had taken place as blurry, non fitting parts in his brain. Bright lights and pain, bonds and small moments, conversations and bleak white walls, the tests, so many fucking tests. 

But Stan couldn’t put a name to face, could only point his blame at a vague hated figure painted in hazy, drug induced fogginess, and God, he couldn’t say why, or how, or where they were. 

“Take it easy, man.” 

Stan whipped around to face Kenny, who had someone tucked under his shoulder, the blonde leaning back against busted furniture easily, always able to adapt to whatever situation he was placed in. “I’m guessing you don’t get anything either, huh?” 

Stan shook his head, “No. Fuck, I don’t. But I can-- I can kind of remember stuff. Like, all of you guys and everything. But, shit--”

“Well, that f-fuc--fucking blows,” Jimmy spoke up, still laying down, his crutches a mere body away, the male most likely too lazy to reach over Clyde to retrieve them. 

Nichole, too, had awoken-- staring around the room with poorly concealed wonder. Her gaze searched Stan’s, eager, as if waiting for something, before a look of disbelief crossed her features. “Stan, do you not realize where we are?” 

“No, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Stan sniffed, stretching his limbs over Craig’s sleeping form, the man’s long legs being pushed aside. “I can’t think for shit,” 

“Clearly.” Nichole snorted, not unkindly, as she pointed a finger in Stan’s general direction. “Look in front of you, Stan,” 

There was thick red hair and freckles poking out from underneath an oversized shirt. Dark, sleek locks falling into tangles from a loose bun, eyes closed-- both figures nestled into the other. 

Stan was shaking. 

“SHIT!” 

He hadn’t meant to exclaim as loudly as he did. 

Stan scrambled backwards, unable to move past Ike, whose hand was intertwined with his brother’s. The two frames that had startled him so suddenly sprung to life, pale faced and alarmed, both supporting the other as they gathered their balance, readying themselves as if they were being attacked. 

“What the hell?” Stan was laughing, nearly delirious with confusion and an overwhelming mixture of emotions he couldn’t find the motivation to discern. “Oh my god, you guys!”

“Stan!” 

Wendy tugged him forward by his arm, firm and strong, encircling his frame eagerly. “Stan, we couldn’t believe it when we found you guys, do you have any idea how much of a fucking mess we’ve been?”

“You’re hogging him, Wendy.” Kyle butted the girl over, grinning so widely, smiling as if Stan was the remedy to whatever dilemmas they had faced over the past--

Stan blinked. 

Five years. It had been five now, hadn’t it?

Stan’s vision was blurry. “Oh my god. How have you guys been, what’s happened? Where’s everyone else?”

“It’s a long story. Some of us are out right now-- things aren’t super ideal. We’ve kind of had to learn how to survive and stuff,” Wendy’s grip had extended to the redhead joined at her side, bringing the three closer together. “But we’re hoping you guys can help us understand what happened. Where did you guys go?”

She looked so hopeful, and Stan suddenly wasn’t sure of what words would make things right. 

“No one remembers.” Kenny spoke up, glaring at Stan, Karen McCormick having been rudely awoken by his outburst, and Jesus, Stan hadn’t even recognized her. “Things are kinda hazy, but we know that we were tested on and shit like that,”

“Kenny,” Kyle nodded at him, his grin having slipped at the revelation, but his tone still hinting at his elevated mood at the sight of his friend. “We don’t really know what happened the night you guys were taken-- are you sure that you can’t recall anything?”

“There’s a lot of foggy stuff in the middle, but being taken and getting here?” Nichole smiled wryly, softening at the audible gasp Wendy released after hearing her speak, “Not a clue,”

“Nichole!” Wendy somehow managed to climb her way over several legs, hands outstretched. 

An arm circled her waist and tugged her backwards. 

“I can’t believe you just stepped over me like that,” Bebe’s breathy voice came in a delighted giggle, “What am I, garbage?” 

And then there was the brisk sound of eager footfalls descending the stairs, until Red stared at the sight before her, wide eyed and stricken, until eventually the four girls landed themselves in a pile of crazed, teary laughter. 

“Heidi,” Wendy managed in between her fits, “Heidi needs to see you guys. Red and I will take you-- we have things to do today, anyhow,” 

“Don’t get seen.” Kyle was so bright looking despite the unspoken roughness that had shaped him, and really, Stan couldn’t keep his eyes from flickering between his two youthful loves. 

He could practically feel Kenny’s smugness. 

“We won’t!” Wendy called back, the girls already having been bundled up in coats Red had laid out the night before, rendering the cheerful atmosphere back down into easy, relieving quiet. 

Stan peeked at Kyle briefly, before launching himself into the ginger’s grasp once again. Kyle heaved and complained, writhing red faced below him.

“Dude,” Stan poked at his sides, “This is so fucking crazy.” he paused, “You look good,” 

Kyle rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips upturned, “Dude,” he shoved Stan lightly, “This is so fucking crazy.” A brief moment of silence, and then, “You look like shit,”

And then it was soundless, heavy, just the steady breathing of those who hadn’t yet regained sentience and the amused huffs of Kenny and his sister. 

“Kyle.” Kenny grinned wolfishly, “Where’s Cartman, huh? I haven’t seen the big guy yet, and I’ve been awake since two a.m.,”

Kyle groaned, but it had no real bite to it. “He’s at Token’s, but the girls are already going there. We need to start sorting through supplies at Stark’s Pond.” His tone softened as he scanned the room, “But we should wait to leave until more people come back, or until they wake up. Whichever one comes first,”

Kenny nodded, humming in thought as he drew his attention to Karen. “Karebear, did anyone else pass away besides Kevin?”

Stan blanched. “Shit, Kevin’s dead? I’m so sorry, man,” 

Kenny shrugged, but the way he avoided Stan’s eyes told more than the blonde would ever care to admit. 

Karen swallowed, uncomfortable with the direction of conversation, “No,” she hesitated, “Not anyone with us at least,” 

Stan frowned at her answer, unsure of how to interpret it, before his thoughts were interrupted by none other than Kevin Stoley clearing his throat. 

For Kenny and Karen’s sake, he had almost hoped…

Well. 

It was good to see Kevin Stoley again. 

He gave Kyle a knowing look, “Stan, Kenny, Jimmy. It’s good to see you guys again,” he turned, “I’m leaving for camp,” offering a small wave as he departed. 

“C-Camp?” Jimmy, who had been intently silent while listening in on the death count, looked towards Kyle, the boy having sat himself upright, allowing Stan to get a better view of his familiar features. 

“Stark’s Pond,” Kyle responded easily, hands stuffed into his pockets, having disentangled himself from Stan’s prodding. 

“So, since everyone else is okay…” There was an impish tone to Kenny’s imploring, “Can you take me to Butters?” 

And suddenly Stan understood Kenny’s initial line of questioning-- it had been both for informative and introspective reasoning. 

In other words, Kenny hadn’t wanted to ask to see someone who could have possibly been dead.

Karen looked towards Kyle for an answer, the boy seeming to think on it a moment before mustering a sigh, “If it’s just the two of you then you should be fine. Butters is an early riser, he’s probably at camp already-- we’ll meet up with Cartman later, but make sure you come back before then,”

Karen grinned, Kenny offering Kyle his thanks as he strolled away; excitement gleaming within his steady gaze as he followed his sister’s lead. 

He never broke away from her hand clutched in his. 

“Why can’t people see us?” Stan hadn’t really wanted to question it, at first, but with the news of Kevin McCormick’s death weighing heavy on their shoulders, he figured it was best to get it out of the way.

Kyle’s words were dark, more intense than Stan had ever pictured Kyle being. “Things have changed a lot, Stan. There’s stuff we have to do to protect ourselves,”

Something ugly was churning within Stan’s stomach. “...Like what?”

Kyle couldn’t answer, because suddenly, Ike had thrown himself upwards, dark eyes crazed with fear, before his head collided with his brother’s roughly, knocking them both backwards. 

Kyle’s nose was bleeding, but it still didn’t stop him from throwing himself at his younger brother, all small words and little comforts as Ike blinked from the suddenness of it all. 

And really, Stan supposed he could wait for an explanation-- everything would be clear soon enough, right?

They were all together again-- what could possibly hinder that?

If nothing else, Craig could at least be glad that they were all lacking in the same aspects. 

No recollection of how they left, or how they were returned. 

But, well-- there were some things that he didn’t think he could ever forget, even if he longed to.

There was a strange, floaty type of elation that kept him constantly high strung; dampened by doubt and natural skepticism, wondering if it was another test, looking for any sign of deceit from those who he yearned to trust.

The years had changed them all. 

But Craig would have never predicted himself as someone to be so utterly distrusting, to the point of pointed aversion, to the point of blatant cowardice. 

Craig had accompanied Kyle to their impressively self sufficient camp-- small shacks and organized materials, explanations of supplies and daily responsibilities, mentions of water transportation for when it was too cold to bathe outdoors, and among many other summarized details that had been explained as though it were nothing. 

The rest of them-- they had been tormented, subjected to the kind of treatment that could only be likened to animal experimentation. But for the ones that had been left, they rebuilt, managing to bring themselves up from the throes of depression and fear for the sake of repurpose. And of course, they couldn’t trust any other townspeople outside of their small group, and of course they had yet to reveal just how, exactly, Kevin McCormick had died, but maybe, if only for a moment, Craig could believe that he could find some sort of thirst for life again. 

Tricia was certainly helping in that regard. 

She was grown, taller than Karen and the same height as Wendy, tough and strong willed. Craig would have never imagined how proud he could be of her when he had been stupid and thirteen, thinking that somehow, things would always work out, believing, naively, that the people he cared for would always be there. 

Tricia had managed to keep her tears at bay upon their reunion, but he could feel her ghost as he was guided around camp, could feel her distance as Token guided him along the safest path to his place. 

Craig had pushed them away. 

He refused to think about it. The future, the past, anything else aside from the present had been dubbed as inconvenient and futile-- he could at least say, with confidence, that he remembered that much. The pain, the anxiety that ripped him apart almost as badly as the initial tests had-- trials of endurance, trials of tolerance. 

Sometimes he could still hear the faint, thrumming sound of electricity if he focused hard enough. And truthfully, that was the last thing Craig ever wanted to hear again. 

He could feel eyes on his back. There was something obviously going unsaid, warranting him looks of pity and exasperation, tiptoeing delicately so as not to upset what semblance of balance they had managed to gain since he and the others had awoken. 

“Craig, man,” Clyde slung an arm around his shoulder, having returned from his rendezvous with Bebe, bright eyed, and not subtle in the slightest. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorting clothes.” Craig continued to separate the fabrics by sizes, busying himself just as Token had requested.

“Craig,” Clyde spoke his name in that irritating, imploring way that hinted at his closest friend about to do something utterly tactless. “Why are you avoiding Tweek?”

And there it was. 

“I’m not.” Craig responded stiffly, “I just haven’t seen him. I’m busy, Clyde, and maybe you should be helping me instead of dicking around,”

“I know that our heads are kind of fucked up right now and everything, but dude, when we were being tested on, you would get out of it sometimes, and the only things you would talk about were Tricia, Stripe and--”

“I get it, Clyde, you don’t have to remind me.” Craig flinched at his own defensiveness, having not entirely meant to snap at the brunette in that fashion. 

Even after all these years, Clyde was still his closest friend, his honorary brother. 

He couldn’t hide anything from him, now. Even if Craig pretended differently.

But Clyde knew of Craig’s sensitivities and weaknesses, just as Craig knew his, and so he seemed to brush the comment aside. “I know that you’re scared. We’re not kids anymore, and it’s been a really long time--”

“I’m not fucking scared--”

“Craig, you can’t go back to the past!” Clyde grabbed his shoulders, staring up at him with intense determination, “The time we had when we were younger is what got us through all of that bullshit. It was how we ran away, thinking about how things were, what we would do if we could ever go back,”

Craig gritted his teeth. “Stop it, Clyde--”

“Wondering about how they were doing, where they were, what they looked like, if they were even alive--”

“Clyde, I swear to God if you don’t shut the hell up--”

“But you can’t let the past be so untouchable. You can’t let your fear of realizing how much everything has changed fuck you up so badly, man!”

Clyde was red faced and breathless by the time he had concluded his spiel, staring at Craig with a clouded expression, most likely matching Craig’s guarded nature. His hands fell to his sides, and Clyde offered a small smile, a sign that they were both okay, since it wasn’t quite so unusual for the two to fall into heated arguments-- but somehow Craig knew this was carrying a heavier amount of weight than what was normal for the both of them.

Clyde stalked away.

Craig had dreamt of the people that surrounded him for the past five years. Their faces haunted his sleep and tormented his subconscious. 

But none had plagued him more than Tweek. Countless nights spent chasing after spikey blonde hair and a twitchy frame, countless hours spent pushing and pulling the boy to and fro, indecisive of whether he wanted to erase Tweek altogether or drown within the time they had taken for granted. 

There was a firm, grounding hand on his shoulder, and Craig felt himself relax beneath Token’s touch. 

It was strange, feeling so distant. There was an invisible divide between the formerly missing and the left behind, tangible and nearly physical, leaving a vague sense of hurt and confusion in its wake, the realization of ‘oh, they’re so close now’ and ‘I’ll never really understand what really happened to them’ mingled with the fear that it still wouldn’t last, that they were all reunited but it still wouldn’t last, because life wasn’t that easy and no good thing was ever left unturned. 

“None of us are the same.” Token didn’t force Craig to meet his gaze, something the male appreciated greatly-- at least this way he could pretend that, what with the way Token was studying the treetops, that the words for himself alone. “But all of you changed, too,”

“Maybe it’s better that way.” Craig replied automatically before furrowing his brows, because he couldn’t quite place just where, exactly, the words had come from-- especially ones so blatantly untrue. 

Token hummed, “It makes you wonder, though,” he pointed at the group of girls that had been conjoined since this morning, at Kyle and Cartman’s barely visible forms through the trees, gesticulating heatedly, at Wendy and Stan sitting knee to knee as they whispered fondly to one another. “If anything ever really changes at all,”

And with that, Token had left him to his thoughts, still so full of insight but always so hesitant to assert his wisdom, opting for the passivity of gentle nudges in the perceived right direction and watchful observances. 

Craig sighed. Tricia had already kindly informed him of Tweek’s whereabouts, saying, “When you’re ready to stop being so dumb, he’s probably over at Token’s getting stuff ready for later-- don’t look at me like that, if you want to know what that means then go ask him yourself,”

So, Craig dragged his chilled limbs forward, placing one foot in front of the other, being followed by Kevin Stoley as he went, since apparently they currently weren’t allowed to wander off by themselves. 

When they neared Token’s mansion (which was just as large and excessive as Craig remembered it being), Kevin left him to his business, telling Craig that if anything happened, Tweek would be able to protect them both.

Which, admittedly, was something Craig found a little hard to believe. He had never thought of Tweek as being weak by any means, had seen just how focused and precise he could be during the games they would play as kids, had been the target of his woes more than once-- but this was life, this was real, and how could those lively green eyes ever dream of hurting anyone? How could those lithe fingers ever manage to harm a single soul?

Tweek had been so kind, so good, so consistently worried about other people that he had acquired the tendency to forgo his own needs. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t see it because he didn’t think Tweek was strong.

It was just difficult to place, because Tweek’s strengths had never been grounded in violence, as Kevin had suggested. 

Craig hadn’t been prepared for being immediately knocked off his feet upon entering. 

There had been a blunt, sweeping force to the back of his knees, sending Craig flat on his back as he stared up at glinting, sharp steel pointing itself directly at his face, barely registering the cold metal of a bat resting next to his temple.

There was blonde hair framing his face, a distinctive ruggedness to his glare, before Tweek’s eyes widened in recognition and he twitched, roughly dropping the blade and scrambling back onto his knees. 

“Nngh! Shit, Craig, I didn’t recognize you, man,” There was a wariness to his tone, words laced with silent apprehension, riddled with disbelief. “I thought you were some guy trying to break in! I couldn’t have let that happen, we really need this place!”

His voice was deeper, but it still had the tendency to break in the middle of Tweek’s rushed sentences. 

“Augh, please don’t be mad, I-- nngh, I didn’t mean to, Je-Jesus, did I hurt you or something?” 

Craig could still see his younger self, all baby faced and screaming, fiddling with his coffee mugs, shirt sloppily buttoned. 

But looking at him as he was now, Craig was ashamed for ever having worried that Tweek would be anything other than what he was. Bundled up in clothes, he still appeared small, but Craig’s breath had been driven away from the force of Tweek’s initial impact, and this side had always been there, hiding beneath a barbarian or a superhero or just whenever kids teased them for being gay, it was always there, how could he have neglected seeing it--

Tricia was right for calling him dumb.

“Why aren’t you saying anything!? Augh, G-God, you’re freaking me out! I didn’t even hit you that hard!” 

Craig blinked, sucking in his breath as he picked himself off the ground, rubbing the back of his dully throbbing head, “Yeah you did,” 

Craig inwardly winced at the protest, hoping that his rebuttal wouldn’t spark any sort of immediate spew of apologies, but to his surprise, Tweek was muffling his laughter behind the palm of his hand. 

“Sorry, Craig,”

Hearing his name spoken aloud made Craig’s chest hurt. 

He narrowed his eyes, “You are not,” 

“I am!” Tweek giggled airily, instinctively moving to offer Craig his hand, before seeming to redirect his attention to his pants as he stood, brushing the dirt from his knees. “It’s just-- you just looked so shocked,” 

Craig snorted, slightly disappointed at Tweek’s change of mind before dismissing the train of thought. “My life flashed before my eyes.” The words were dripping in monotonous sarcasm, and really, Craig hadn’t felt this light in a very long time. 

Tweek grinned, “I bet it was pretty lame,” 

“It was without you there.” 

It had left his mouth before he could formulate any sort of better, less pressing response. Tweek’s smile wavered, his eyes softening, before he gently retrieved the kitchen knife he carried from the floor and offered it to Craig. 

“Everyone has something on them.” Tweek nudged his bat with his foot, “And I’m pretty much already set, s-so…” 

Craig didn’t want to entertain the notion that they felt vulnerable enough to have weapons on them at all times, so he nodded wordlessly and swallowed down his concerns, because there were many questions he wasn’t confident he was prepared to have answered.

For starters, Tweek’s bat was dingy, paint coming off in chips-- and Craig wondered how often he had used it, for the metal to have become such an extension, for it to have been used to knock him to the floor so swiftly.

Craig wondered why it looked the way it did. 

Craig was afraid, not of Tweek, necessarily-- but of what he had been forced to do. 

When he looked up again, Tweek was watching him with an expression devoid of much obvious emotion aside from the slight furrow of his brow and gnawing of his bottom lip.

Craig was used to being observed, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted it, especially from him. He shifted, uncomfortable, before Tweek slung the bat over his shoulder easily. 

“When it’s warm we bathe in shifts outside, but since it’s freezing out, I’m getting water from the creek outback.” Tweek’s attention was directed towards the stairs, “Token has three bathrooms total, so I’m putting the water in the tubs for it to sit until it’s not too bad. By the time everyone ends up here it’ll still be cold, b-but, not like, freeze your nuts off cold,” 

Setting his bat against the doorframe, Tweek picked up one of two rusty buckets, “It takes longer than you think, and it’s kind of a pain, nngh, so you don’t have to stay--”

Craig shrugged, his eyes purposeful in their avoidance, unsure of how to progress, unsure of how he was supposed to act, of how he was supposed to feel. “It’ll get done faster with two people,”

They moved back and forth, up and down stairs, filling up the bathtubs with (generally) clean water until Craig’s legs began to cramp from the constant flurry of exercise. Tweek was lithe and quick footed, much less clumsy than what had been anticipated, and Craig supposed that he should have expected that, seeing as this had evidently been Tweek’s job for the past two years, but it surprised him still. 

The day had been full of surprises. 

It wasn’t until the last bucket had been dumped that Craig sunk to his knees, weary from emotional exhaustion, weak from having not eaten since daybreak. 

Tweek accompanied him, sitting criss crossed to the point where their knees just barely brushed. 

They were quiet, for a moment, drinking in the comfort of being with one another, reveling in the aftermath of heavy breaths and complete stillness. Craig could feel Tweek’s slight jumps, every so often, could feel vague warmth seeping from where their arms nearly touched. 

“Hey, Craig,” Tweek swallowed, fiddling with his sleeves, “I know that you’re probably really tired, and I--augh, shit, I don’t want to bother you, but--”

“You’re not going to bother me.” Craig was tired, heavy limbed and quite near braindead, but he could never deny whatever was going to be requested of him, not when Tweek’s voice was wavering ever so slightly, not when he could see the anxiety tussling about on the inside of his head. 

It was like when they were younger, almost-- Craig had always wished that he could peek inside those blonde locks, understand how to better help his closest companion with his worries, help to soothe his own feelings of utter inadequacy, of utter helplessness, when there were certain days where nothing worked.

Tweek had always said that he felt like a burden, but the burden had only ever been Craig himself, his uselessness, his tendency to steer away from his feelings. 

“I know that you guys said you don’t know what happened-- augh, J-Jesus, but do you still remember before?” He was cautious, examining Craig with wide eyes, searching for a reaction that would indicate whether or not he had crossed some sort of line.

Craig was unsure of what exact line that was supposed to be. “What do you mean?”

Tweek flinched. “Nngh! I just-- I mean, like, when we were kids and stuff-- just, you know, before.” He was gesturing vaguely with his hands, trying not to seem as affected as he was, and Craig felt the urge to relax him somehow, but it had been so long, so damn long, and he couldn’t, he couldn’t--

“Yeah.” Craig’s voice was hoarse to his ears, strangely unfamiliar. “We all do,” He coughed, “I think we would talk about it. While we were gone,” 

Tweek nodded, relieved. 

He must have been worried that their old bond had been lost to whatever case of amnesia plagued him. 

The thought of Craig losing the times he treasured so dearly was terrifying. 

“No one really talked about it, except for me and Butters sometimes. It was-- it was a rule, almost. I kept track of the days,” Tweek’s eyes flashed, “Craig, did you realize that you guys came back on the fifth anniversary?” 

Craig could feel his head pounding. “No,”

“It’s five years exactly, Craig. I-- Jesus, I haven’t told anyone else because I don’t know what it means,” Tweek was curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees, and Craig realized that he had become entirely dependent on himself when it came to comfort.

And while it should have been obvious, and while it certainly wasn’t something bad, the thought of Tweek being alone in his times of crisis didn’t settle well with him. Craig knew that Tricia and Token wouldn’t have left him entirely to himself, that they had been there and supported him to the best of their abilities, but it wasn’t the same, it hadn’t been the same for Craig, he had missed him, he wanted to say something, anything, he had missed--

“Craig, when I heard you guys were back I didn’t know what to do.” Tweek was teary, now, his hands gently embedded into messy blonde locks. “It can’t be a coincidence! But I was so scared.” He whispered shakily, “I thought that maybe you guys had changed too much. Even though this was everything I had been dreaming about, I knew that things could never be the same, and I was just-- just worried that it would be like--”

“Like we had never even come back at all.” Craig’s words were caught in his throat, choking him, making his head dizzy. 

Or maybe it was the way Tweek’s wet cheeks were reddening, maybe it was the way he stared at Craig with such withheld amazement, as if he were seeing him for the first time, again, or maybe it was more like when Craig had gifted him a poorly made birthday mug, or when Craig had revealed that Stripe the second was technically a girl, or--

Craig, tentatively, pulled Tweek’s wrists away from his hair, setting them down into his lap, his fingers lingering before they attempted to return back to his own area of comfort. 

Tweek’s grasp caught his, touch light and weary, questioning. 

Craig answered by steadying his movements, allowing their hands to intertwine as he perched his leg to rest against Tweek’s. 

It was warm. 

Warmer than Craig had been since he had awoken. 

They didn’t have to understand it all now. 

Craig had them back-- had them all back, and even if fear was still stabbing hotly at his heart, for now he wouldn’t think about it, because Tweek was there, alive and breathing, red faced and still as frustratingly beautiful as Craig remembered. 

And so, really, Craig could forgive everything else that had slipped through the depths of his mind. 

None of them would ever be as important as the memories they had made together. 

Kenny was just as guilty of reminiscence as his friends, and even if he hadn’t permitted his mind to often stray, he was only human, and fantasies did occasionally come and go. 

Seeing Cartman starkly naked while he and Kyle shoved at one another was not one of those fantasies, but maybe it should have been, because it was easily the most amusing thing Kenny had been witness to in years. 

Tweek and Craig had prepared the bathrooms, and while everyone bathing at once in bone chilling stream water wasn’t ideal, it was the best they could manage, and really, Kenny couldn’t complain. 

Cartman was still rambunctious, matching Kyle’s hotheadedness with pride, and Kenny shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was to see that the boy still managed to somewhat maintain his heavier figure. 

The bastard be damned, maybe he really was big boned. 

They had rags to wash with and bars of soap for the using, but you wouldn’t think that there was enough to share what with the way Cartman was seething. 

“Dammit, Kahl, we haven’t gotten more soap yet, you need to use less--”

“You use the most soap out of anyone, fatass!” 

“Now, fellas, we don’t need to get so rowdy.” Butters was grinning nervously, running his fingers through soapy hair. Beneath his attempt at placaction was a vague sense of annoyance-- the same spark of fire that no one else had ever been able to see. 

Butters had never quite been the pushover everyone described him as, and Kenny was more than glad to see that trait still standing strong. 

Kenny was also far underprepared for having to keep his stare away from paled, supple skin, hair that clung damply to his forehead, eyes doe eyed and so, so blue. 

Stan, who was currently attempting the bypass both arguing forms to exit the water, was jostled by Cartman suddenly moving backwards, sending him sprawling head first, tumbling slick limbed out of the tub, unable to regather his footing as he landed.

Cartman doubled over, holding his stomach-- and while he shouldn’t have, Kenny allowed himself to laugh openly, gasping for air as Stan simply laid there, resigned, wet, and humiliated. 

“Stan! God, I knew that we shouldn’t have tried to fit all of us in at once.” Kyle grabbed a towel, a perplexing mixture of aggressive and concerned, setting himself down on the toilet. 

“W-well, I just figured it’d be warmer that way,” Butters’ teeth chattered as he spoke, his eyes downcast, guilty. 

“Not everyone is as comfortable as you when it comes to doing things that are totally gay, Butters,” Cartman’s snickering had ceased, his eyes observing Kyle’s fusses over Stan with the general sense of someone who was utterly unimpressed. 

“Don’t listen to him, Butterfly,” Kenny leaned in, cupping his hand, whispering loud enough for Eric to overhear, “He’s just jealous that Kyle isn’t paying him any attention,” 

“I am not!” 

Butters’ face grew red at the proximity, giggling lightly at the jest, and Kenny pulled away, grinning with satisfaction. 

“I’m fine, dude,” Stan smiled as Kyle felt around his head for any sign of significant damage, “I swear I’ve taken worse,” 

Kyle was muttering under his breath, hurriedly tugging on various oversized items of clothing. “Fucking Cartman, I swear to God--”

“Don’t blame me you Jewish asswipe!” 

“You’ve been saying that since we were eight! Is there anything else you can come up with?” Kyle snapped, pausing to ruffle his dampened hair before swinging the door open easily, his exit hasty. 

Stan protested, yelling about how he wasn’t fully covered and how anyone could just be walking by (though Kenny had the hunch that Kyle and the rest had grown somewhat accustomed to seeing one another in the nude) before he scrambled to put himself together, leaving with Cartman once they were both deemed covered enough to be seen. 

Kenny and Butters were left to themselves.

Kenny, naturally, wanted to be thrilled. 

But, well. They were both still quite nearly strangers, at this point-- despite their history and mutual fondness, it had been so long since they had spoken. Words were difficult to arrange, and there weren’t many topics of conversation that didn’t fall in between the blurred lines of morbid and utterly depressing. 

Their initial reunion had been enjoyable-- all bright smiles and warm words, but when those words were boiled down to their very core, the meaning was addressed to the ghosts of the kids they had already left behind. 

Kenny couldn’t help himself-- he just knew better. Everyone else hadn’t seemed to figure it out, yet; the fact that their lingering affections were born from the hopes of what was rather than what they presently were. And it was bittersweet, how Butters seemed to grin with all the assurance in the world, how Kyle and Stan were clinging to one another, as if their physical proximity alone could somehow forge the emotion gap between them. 

But when he looked at Leopold, Kenny knew that he couldn’t stay. 

He would ruin him.

Hell, Kenny hardly knew his own sister anymore. 

And yes, they could all eventually get to know one another again, and yes, Kenny still cared, more than he should, and yes, it was painful--

But Kenny was used to pain. 

And so, with a small smirk and friendly goodbye, Kenny easily climbed out of the water, throwing on the sweatpants and sweater that Kyle had lent him before going off in search of his sister.

And so, with a small smirk and friendly goodbye, Kenny would begin to rebuild his world, to keep it all from crumbling down just as it had before. 

But there was still something ugly and twisted that churned within him. 

Kenny could remember. 

Kenny could remember everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading to this point! Chapter 4 is in the works. Comments and feedback is always welcome! See you guys soon xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Violence Ahead**
> 
> He was sick of feeling as if he were a guest in the town that had once been his home. 
> 
> Ike didn’t know where home was, anymore.

Wendy had mastered the art of being put together. 

She and Kyle-- they made decisions. They got things done, they made sure everything aligned perfectly into place. 

Wendy didn’t allow herself to linger very long within her own negativity-- she couldn’t wallow, she didn’t have time to be upset, to be sad, to find herself lost within what she could never get back for too long. 

She had to be stronger than that, because if she wasn’t, then who would be?

They were all fragmented. No one was completely themself anymore, and that was okay, because they were still breathing, and really, it was okay for them to hurt. They had grown from the pain. 

But Wendy was worried. 

Ike was wringing his hands nervously, rushed as he spoke, Nichole wide eyed and nervous at his side. 

They had been seen. 

In the past, they had been able to overcome every obstacle that had been placed in their way. 

“We didn’t know what to do. Nichole and I stayed where Red told us to, but these guys ended up seeing us anyway--”

Through the years they had lived. 

“Wendy, I think they’re coming. Red told us to run. They want an explanation,” 

Wendy couldn’t think. She couldn’t hear her thoughts over the pounding of blood rushing through her ears. 

“Wendy, we’re sorry. Ike and I-- we did what she said. She said to find you,” Nichole’s stare was imploring, her tone growing desperate, “Wendy, please, you need to--”

“Get to camp.” Wendy couldn’t let them see her shaking, “Go as fast as you can. If they’re there then ask for Tweek, Cartman, Token and Kyle to get here,” 

Ike was already running, but Nichole hesitated, wary. “What if they’re not?” 

Wendy gritted her teeth. They had to leave, she couldn’t place this burden onto them, not now--

“Then ask for anyone else except for Tricia and Karen. Anyone who’s been here,” 

“Wendy--”

“Nichole.” Wendy grabbed her friend’s shoulders, heavy and firm, “I’ll be fine. We’re used to this, alright? We just don’t want this to get more complicated than it has to be,” She could only hope that the edge to her words didn’t deter the assurance she hoped to convey, “I need you to listen to me. We’ll work this out, alright? But you have to leave,” 

Wendy didn’t know what the oncoming group would do. She was fearful of their reactions, of their paranoia and accusations. 

Wendy couldn’t let the rest of them know. She didn’t want them to understand how dangerous it really was, how fragile boundaries lay, how the only reason they remained unbothered was simply because of past deeds long committed and blood long spilled--

Stan and the rest had left them as children.

They had returned to killers. 

Wendy shuddered. 

They couldn’t know-- not yet. 

Nichole offered one last look of concerned uncertainty before she fled, leaving a trail of dirt in her wake. 

Wendy could hear them, all gruff voiced and angry, something akin to anger bubbling from deep within her core. She hated these people, more than anything, useless, meaningless, horrid--

And then they were there, tight lipped and grimacing, with violence on their tongues and weapons clutched tightly in their hands. 

“What the hell is this,” He was burly figured and sour breathed, familiar enough, but Wendy couldn’t place a name to face. “You’re telling me that they’re coming back?”

“I’m not telling you anything.” Wendy’s head felt light, “Where is she?”

A woman spoke up, baring her teeth in an ugly, menacing grin. “You tell us, and we tell you. There was talkin’-- bout there bein’ old faces. Never thought it would’ve been true,” 

Wendy’s fist was clenched as she struggled to keep her voice steady. “We had a deal,” 

“What do your friends know about all this?” The woman sneered, “There’s no way they coulda just shown up outta nowhere,”

“They don’t know anything.” Wendy snarled, “You’re not keeping up with your end of the deal, tell me where she is!” 

“Bullshit.” The man sniffed, “You all know everything, don’t you? Fucking bullshit, you fucking tell us--”

He was interrupted by his scraggly looking partner, the third of the small group, “Where’s our family? Where’s our children-- why the hell are these kids back? Tell us what you know!”

There was a sudden shriek and the sickening sound of a hard, grisly impact as the man was knocked to his knees, forehead scarlet and cracked, his blood staining the end of hardened metal. Tweek stood over his body, panting and breathless, twitching fiercely. “Je-Jesus fucking Christ! They’ve got Red, Nngh, God--”

As Tweek held the man’s unconscious frame, Cartman wrapped his arm around the woman’s throat-- her blade sliced through the skin of his arm, eliciting a series of profanities as she struggled within his clutch. 

Heidi winced as she raised a shovel high above her head, slamming it downwards and sucking in a tight breath as the woman slumped within Eric’s grasp, dazed and murmuring. 

The last remaining man turned, preparing himself for an escape, before Token struck him across the face. The man leered, punching roughly, sending Token backwards as his fist connected--

Kyle jerked a block of wood downwards, splintering into the man’s head as Cartman delivered the final blow of knocking the man down, harshly, as he was left breathless and wheezing. 

“We have to act fast.” Kyle snapped, pressed and urgent, “Heidi, give me the rope,”

The girl complied, squirrely, shooting worried glances at Eric’s bleeding arm as she handed off the rough material. Kyle restrained the man’s arms and legs, shoulders rigid, breathing uneven. Wendy grabbed what remained, repeating the knots and loops the ginger had taught her onto the woman until both were bound entirely.

Her gaze fell upon the first man in his sorry, painful looking state. “We can’t let them think they can walk all over us.” Wendy was trembling, fighting off the panicked tears that threatened to consume her, “They violated the deal. They wouldn’t tell me where Red was--”

“They all know what happens when they don’t hold up their end of the damn bargain.” Cartman was gripping his arm, blood blooming between his fingers, “Fuckers-- they won’t leave us the hell alone. They know what fucking happens,” 

Cartman was shaking, but they all knew what came next. 

Wendy swallowed. 

It always came back down to what they had to do-- for their own sake. 

It was always the worst part of it all. They had been children when they first started this, kids, traumatized and scared, and these sick adults, attempting to take advantage of them, to leave them to rot--

They knew better than to try, now. 

But the returns had made them desperate. Leeching off of false hope of normality ever coming back, they wanted answers that couldn’t be provided. 

Wendy had to keep reminding herself. 

They knew better.

It wasn’t her fault. 

Cartman reached for Tweek’s bat, the blonde already a whimpering mess, clinging onto Token’s arm as the male slowly backed away. 

It wasn’t Cartman’s fault, it wasn’t Red’s fault--

Cartman released his hold along his wound, lifting the bat high, his gaze wretched and nauseous, he always volunteered for the worst of it to spare them all and Wendy couldn’t breathe--

It wasn’t their fault. 

It wasn’t their fault, they had to do this, the adults wouldn’t let them live in peace, they knew better, they knew--

Wendy was suffocating, breathless and heaving, choking back tears, dizzy. 

Nichole and Ike and all the rest--

They couldn’t know. 

They wouldn’t understand. 

It wasn’t their fault. 

Kyle rushed to her side, pulling her face into his shoulder, shielding her view. “Red will be fine. She’s tough, and she’s smart, and when this is over we’ll go hang out with Stan again,”

It was the awful cracking, the wet sounds and splatters that made Wendy long to cover her ears-- but she couldn’t.

Wendy had to be strong. 

And then it was all over, just as quickly as it had began. 

“Token and Cartman, take him to the border. They’ll know now that things are still the same-- they can’t bother us,” Kyle’s voice was a comforting rumble, but Wendy pulled away, because she needed to steel herself for what was to come. 

“Tweek and Heidi, help me take the other two to the shack. We’ll keep them there until they tell us where Red is,” Wendy sighed, a migraine settling heavy in her head, “Bebe, Clyde, Ike or any of them can’t know about this. Not yet.” She sniffed, shoving away the emotions that threatened to consume her, “We’ll regroup at Token’s later tonight and discuss what to do when everyone else is asleep. Cartman, make sure to get yourself wet on the way back to get rid of the blood,” 

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Come on Token, let’s get this shit over with,” Cartman’s usual biting tone was devoid, replaced with the ghost of the child who had been forced to grow too fast.

Wendy knew that child. It was in all of them, locked away and burned. 

They placed the two bodies within the shack, the structure away from camp and away from the pond, sitting in between the filtering of trees and forest.

Kyle’s arm was around her shoulder as they walked back in heavy, unfiltered silence. Tweek was still murmuring roughly to himself, scraping his bat through the light layer of frost that covered the ground as they returned; leaving a bloody streak in his wake. Heidi was quiet, most likely battling with her own thoughts and guilts, and really, there was no one to blame.

When they returned to camp, they were met with an onslaught of questions and comments, many of which Butters and Kevin attempted to filter through, because they knew what had just taken place, they would have to have known--

And then Red was there, scraped and bruised but grinning proudly, and Wendy could have cried from the relief that crushed her. 

But she didn’t.

Wendy had to be stronger than that.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to trust them. 

But Ike couldn’t shake the uneasiness that was churning steadily within him, rhythmic and pulsing, unable to be soothed. 

He had just finished his share of the canned goods that had been warmed over fire-- Kyle had told him that the winter was always the worst, but once it began to warm they would be able to plant things that were fresh and far more sustainable-- but truthfully, Ike wasn’t entirely listening. 

He was staring deep within his brother’s eyes, vivid and always wavering in intensity, constantly brimming with something unsaid. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to trust them.

But Ike could feel the tension radiating from the secrets they refused to spill, and really, how could they expect trust when it was refused to be given?

Ever since they had encountered those people, the day had taken a darker, more menacing undertone. Token’s cheek was swollen, but he had waved off the injury, offering the bruise as a mere consequence of poorly chosen words. And while these kinds of predicaments were to be expected in times of survival with limited resources and territory, it was strange, how eagerly Wendy dismissed the topic, how Cartman had supposedly somehow tumbled his entire body into Stark’s Pond, how pointedly they all avoided one another’s stares. 

It was later that night, under the darkness of cloudy skies and starry hours, that Ike climbed out of the pillow fort he shared with Stan and Jimmy, on the prowl for something that would ease his suspicions, searching for they key to unlock whatever truth he knew his brother and the rest were attempting to keep hidden away.

What Ike found was something far more intriguing, in what could very well prove to be the worst possible way. 

There was a small circle of them. Not everyone was present-- they were illuminated only vaguely, all outlined silhouettes and small whispers. He recognized the voice of his brother, and Ike slowly inched his way down the staircase, wincing with every brief impact, before settling himself around a darkened corridor, leaning. 

“It’s settled, then. Butters, Kevin and Token will go to the shack to let those two go.” Kyle nodded to himself, “It’s a long walk, so you guys won’t have to get up early with the rest of us tomorrow,” 

“Sorry about the trouble. There was no other time for you guys to have been able to leave without everyone else noticing,” Wendy’s hands were bunched into her pockets, sheepish, “I didn’t want to let them go without making sure Red was alright first,” 

Ike squinted his eyes, attempting to make out the forms that were pressed so closely together, but aside from those who had spoken and Cartman, it was proving difficult to distinguish between them all. 

Ike swallowed-- he couldn’t be interpreting them correctly. The way they were speaking, it was almost as if…

“We took their weapons and they’re still tied up, so they shouldn’t give us any trouble.” Token stood, grunting as he stretched, “We’ll be back before sunrise,” 

“We’ll get this done right fast, don’t you even worry.” Ike didn’t have to be able to see to know that the blonde was most likely offering a nervous grin, “Fellas, I guess we better get a move on,”

Cartman snorted, “Yeah, sure, whatever Butters, just make sure that I don’t have to end up bashing anyone’s head in again,” 

The way they were speaking, it was almost as if--

No, not almost. Ike was certain now, adrenaline pumping hot through his veins, his senses elevated from alarm as the ground shifted beneath his feet. He lowered himself, flattening against the wall behind him, heart tight in his chest. 

The small crowd that had followed them-- they hadn’t left after a conversation, they hadn’t simply exchanged unfriendly pleasantries. His brother, his friends, had prevented their escape, had ensured that they were fit for interrogation to combat the worst scenario of Red’s absence. 

Were they capable of it? Had they done this often, was this their regular?

Ike didn’t know how to feel. He was scared, he was morbidly curious, and he knew what must be done.  
He had always been such a curious child. 

As he heard the three boys walking towards the back exit, Ike followed closely behind, lingering just out of sight-- if he permitted them to escape his line of vision he would never be able to track them down, much less manage his own way back to Token’s, and maybe it wasn’t the best of plans, maybe his current clothing wasn’t fit for wintry midnight stalking but dammit, damn them all, Ike had to know. 

He was sick of feeling as if he were a guest in the town that had once been his home. 

Ike didn’t know where home was, anymore. 

The door swung shut, creaky with aged hinges, and Ike pushed himself forward with deft, sure footed movements, quick and light, until suddenly cold was whipping at his limbs and tearing at exposed areas of tender flesh. 

He could hear them, the gentle lull of Butter’s humming and Token’s gentle directions, Kevin’s small comments and idle conversation-- they were without light, adapted to their terrain, cautious of lingering eyes. 

Cautious of someone like Ike, who peered in the general direction of their roamings with exasperation, with fright, with irritation and pettiness. 

He wouldn’t allow himself the option to turn away from this, now. Ike had always faced his challenges head on, and truly, fuck the cold and screw the biting wind, he would find his answers. He would deface whatever secrets, whatever image his brother was still fighting to preserve. 

Ike had been underestimated. Not in his actions or intelligence, but in his faith. 

Did they think them to be naive? It was obvious, wasn’t it? The need to do things that were considered harsh and unthinkable, to carry on after spending days wishing you could fall asleep and never wake again, to feel pain in every inch, every fibre of every bleak part of yourself--

Ike seethed silently, traipsing through heavy forestry, guided by the sounds of those who walked before him. 

Ike had been underestimated. 

Of course, it was painful to become so devoid of empathy, to embody the type of select cruelty reserved only for the most disgusting of decisions, for the most disturbing faces of life--

But Ike had been disturbed. He had been riddled with pain, faced with trials of trust and penalties and games of utter menace, and if Kyle truly believed them incapable of simply understanding, of simply giving them the option to believe, then Ike would take it from him. Kyle would see, Wendy would see--

That they could be trusted. That Ike could be seen as someone important again, that he and his brother could be close, could be--

“Ike!”

Ike startled, turning roughly, fighting against the urge to escape. 

“Ike, that’s you isn’t it? You fucking-- what are you doing?” Kyle grabbed him by the fabric of his collar, jostling him, and it was only then that Ike realized that he, too, had been followed. “I knew it. I knew that I saw you, you’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are,” 

His brother continued, “You’re shaking. Jesus, Ike, why would you come out here? That’s so fucking stupid, Ike, there’s no way you would’ve found your way back--”

Ike’s throat was dry. “I’m not.” He struggled against the ginger’s hardened grip, “I’m not stupid, Kyle!” His protest was loud and raw, fueled by years of anger and devastation as Kyle released his hold from the shock of the sudden shout. “Look at me,” 

“Ike, you’re being too loud--”

“Look at me!” Ike placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders, “I’m not a kid anymore! Why are you hiding things? When I woke up you said things would get better, but you don’t trust us! You won’t tell us anything,” 

Kyle’s response was strained. “I know. I know, I’ll explain, I promise, but let’s go back, things are hard, Ike--”

“We know that!” Ike snapped, pulling away from Kyle’s grasp, “You guys aren’t the only ones who have done things. You won’t even give us the option of knowing, of making our own judgements! Everyone else doesn’t want to say anything, not yet, but everyone knows--”

“Ike, you don’t understand.” Kyle was pleading, now, tugging on his sleeve limply, “You could never understand. We’re scared, we don’t want you to--”

“To what, run away?” Ike was laughing, bitter and hurt, “Where the fuck do you expect us to go?” 

“Dammit Ike! Just drop it--”  
“No! I’m not a baby, Kyle--”

“You could never understand--”

“I killed someone!” Ike’s scream echoed around them, tumbling from his lips and landing in the stretching distance between them as he finally lost his footing, collapsing onto frozen twigs and fallen leaves. 

And for a moment, there was nothing but heavy breathing and the ugly silence that swallowed Ike in his entirety. 

“I killed Stan’s sister.” Ike could feel his eyes stinging, “I watched her die, Kyle.” His emotional energy was completely depleted, but he continued, “So don’t act like you know everything,” His voice was breaking, shit--

Kyle encircled his frame, steady and grounding, “I’m sorry,” 

“Stop hiding from me.” Ike swallowed against the pain of his throat, “I just want you back, Kyle. I’m so sick of hiding. I’m so fucking sick of it. I don’t even care about what you’re doing, I just want my brother,” 

Kyle’s fingers brushed against his face, and it was then that Ike realized that he and his idiot brother had both forgone any sort of proper attire, the latter enraptured with mystery, the former panicked and searching. “In the morning, we’ll talk about it. I’m sorry, Ike. We didn’t--”

Kyle’s sentence fluctuated, “We didn’t want you to be scared of us,” he whispered. 

“We’re all too busy being scared of ourselves to worry about anyone else.” Ike allowed his weight to be supported by the stable figure of his brother, who had knelt down onto freezing ground for Ike’s benefit alone. “You shouldn’t underestimate us. We’re all waiting for something bad to happen again, and whatever this is, the longer you keep it--”

“I know.” Kyle, gentle but insistent, pulled Ike up by his armpits, his murmurs a gentle whisp of exhaustion that fanned out between them both. “I’m sorry,” 

When they had finally completed the trek back to Token’s, Kyle had refused to release his hold on his younger brother, opting for trailing up the stairs and crashing the fort his brother had boasted about just hours previous. 

Ike didn’t recall ever falling asleep, but when he awoke to sunlight streaming in between translucent sheets, he realized that he had clung to the ginger’s side throughout the remainder of the night. Embarrassed, he blinked away sleep blearily, sitting up onto his knees.

It was only then that Ike was able to see that his brother dearest had been sandwiched, a clingy, sleeping brunette having entangled himself around Kyle’s form. 

Ike wasn’t surprised to see that Jimmy was already awake, studying the sight before him. “Th-That’s pretty guh...pretty g-gay,” 

They had a lot of problems to sort through.

But as Ike looked upon the face of his vulnerable, peaceful looking kin, he couldn’t find the will to disturb him. Kyle wouldn’t break his word-- they would speak, and they would speak soon. 

For now, he deserved to rest. 

“Yeah.” Ike agreed, “It kind of is,” 

Red already knew that they were making a mistake. 

She was unsure of how, exactly, they were going to explain, was unsure if she even wanted to be around for the aftermath.

But Wendy had told her that they all needed to be present for this particular conversation, and even if Red could feel a headache coming on strong and thorough, she knew better than to think she’d find a way to avoid it. 

Evidently, those who had met last night hadn’t taken into account the fact they weren’t nearly as quiet as they assumed. Evidently, the only reason Ike wasn’t frostbitten and miserable was because Kyle’s watchful eyes had caught him trailing behind Kevin and the others. 

When Red had awoken the next morning to Wendy’s flustered state, the worst was easy to presume-- especially when doubled with Butter’s account of being able to hear Kyle and his brother screaming in the forest during the absolute dead of night. 

“Gee, you guys, I dunno.” Butters was wringing his hands together, uneasy, “I don’t think they’ll be too happy about all this. I mean, I know we let those two other folks go, but Cartman still--”

“Aye!” Eric snapped, “Maybe if Tweek hadn’t bashed that guy’s head in I wouldn’t have had to kill him.” He sniffed, “It’s not like any of you pussies wanted to, anyway, so--”

They were collected in the kitchen, communicating through harsh whispers and dramatic hand gestures. Almost everyone was awake, those who remained unaware waiting somewhat patiently in the living room, sitting tired on sofas and couches, unaware for the shock that was to come. 

Tweek yelped at the sudden direct of blame, wincing, “He was going to hurt Wendy! Ah, Jesus, see me through this-- can’t we just get Ike to keep it a secret? I don’t think this is a good idea,”

Ike, who had happily placed himself upon the granite counter top, was swinging his legs with mild contempt. “No,” 

Token sighed, flinching at the comparative loudness of Tweek’s exclamation. “It’s too late for that. The sooner we tell them, the easier this will be for everyone.” 

“Listen,” Red wasn’t going to refrain from redirecting the conversation-- Ike was being a stubborn bastard, sure, but there were still some things that couldn’t be properly explained yet. 

Life was complicated, they were all still adjusting, and really, some things were just better left unsaid. They had buried these memories, these actions, for the sake of their sanity and mental well being, and Red knew better than to think that simply putting everything out into the open was enough to resolve the underlying tension of it all. 

“We don’t have to go into the details. All they need to know is about the deal and what that means.” Red crossed her arms, not entirely fond of the way Ike was observing her so steadily, “There’s a lot to what led us here, and frankly, I don’t think that everyone here is totally willing to admit to everything, myself included,” 

“Y-yeah,” Tweek shifted his balance between the soles of his feet, “They don’t have to know everything, do they?” 

The incident they were dancing around was particularly sensitive for the blonde, and it would seem that no one had the resolve to address him with their disagreements directly. Wendy frowned, smoothing them hem of her shirt as she worried her bottom lip, “Ike, what do you think about that? I know that Kyle explained things to you already,” Kyle rolled his eyes upon Wendy’s incriminating glance, “But don’t you think it would be better to work up to it? It’ll be a shock, especially to Kenny, since it involves his brother--”

“Fine.” Ike stretched, obviously displeased, releasing his frustration with pointed words. “This is all going to blow up in your faces, but fine, whatever. I don’t care how much you tell them, just get on with it.” He brushed by the surrounding figures easily, hopping down from the counter with ease, demeanor oozing sheer annoyance. 

There were a few beats of apprehension before Token and Cartman made the first moves to the living room, where Karen and Tricia had instructed their small group to gather. Red sought out familiar dark hair immediately, thankful not for the first time that the Kevin she knew so well was the one still with them, before settling down next to his frame, waiting for Kyle and Wendy to agree on how much they would be revealing. 

Heidi bumped against her arm, questioning, but Red didn’t oblige to her unspoken request. If this was to go well, she needed to remain blank faced and silent, giving no hint that the information that was going to be relayed wasn’t necessarily the entire, unfiltered truth. Heidi seemed to catch the gist of what was happening from her stony expression, and quickly settled herself into folded hands and criss crossed legs. 

“W-what, is this a c-cu-cult sac-sacrifice or something?” Jimmy was grinning from his place next to a sheepish looking Bebe, who seemed to agree with his sentiments. 

“I don’t know how I feel about this atmosphere, you guys--why so serious?” Bebe was smiling, but it was thin lipped and probing, “Is this about yesterday?”

“Basically.” Wendy addressed the room in that commanding way of hers, bracing an authoritative tone that demanded to be listened to, effortlessly enthralling in how she could capture an audience. “I’m sure you all heard about yesterday, regarding Nichole, Ike and Red,” She left no room for pause as she continued, “Red was thankfully able to get away unharmed, but there’s something that we haven’t fully addressed,”

Wendy nodded towards Kyle, who took her silent que in with stride, his presence less prominent but certainly just as effective, quiet in his steadiness. “Right. Back when this all started, when the shipments first started coming in, there would be fights. A lot of them, a lot of stealing, and most importantly, a lot of adults taking advantage of a bunch of orphaned kids who couldn’t defend themselves,”

“When supplies began to stock up, we struck a deal with them that split the town into two-- they could keep the businesses and shops, and we had the woods. It’s a lot easier to get around unseen that way, plus we’re a little further away from the majority of who’s left.” 

Red had to remind herself to remain completely and utterly neutral. It would seem that they were skipping around the incident entirely, she could feel her heartbeat stutter in her chest, no one ask any questions, don’t slip up, she wasn’t ready, none of them were ready--

“The deal consisted of territory, but also basic things like causing each other harm. We have weapons on us, just in case, but we all usually just keep to ourselves,” Kyle’s gaze flitted around uneasily.

“And you didn’t know how we would affect the deal.” Nichole hummed, brows furrowed in contemplation, “Since they wouldn’t know how many of us were back, or what that would mean for supplies,”

“Not to mention that we’re not their families or anything.” Stan grimaced, “It kind of sucks for them, that some of us are back, but not who they want to see. Hell, I’d be pissed too,”

Encouraged by the half truth being well received, Kyle pressed on, “Exactly. So for now no one should be by themselves, or get to close to town unless you know what you’re doing--”

“What happens if someone breaks it?”

Red’s breath caught in her throat at the nasally voice that broke through. Her cousin, sitting all languid and perplexed, observing with a certain kind 0f keen imploring that they truly could do without. 

“What?” Kyle froze, if only slightly, voice lilting.

“The deal.” Craig stared, “What happens if someone breaks it like they did yesterday?”

“We get a cut of some of their resources.” Token interjected quickly, albeit perhaps a bit too quickly, and Red slowly felt her breathing resume. 

Thank God for Token Black’s clever thinking. It was far from the truth-- the hut nestled out into the woods and Tweek’s dented bat was testament to their true resortment of punishment, but for now, none of them would be doubtful enough to debate on the topic for too long. 

Red could only hope that any vague wonderings wouldn’t lead to their story’s holes being caught. Of course if a deal was broken they wouldn’t willingly hand out their supplies, of course they wouldn’t simply agree to idle negotiations.

They had to take action, the adults had crossed a line back then, they hadn’t had any other choice.

They had played with fire, and really, all Red could say was that she had stoked the flames. 

“Jesus Christ, are we going to sit here and do nothing all day?” Cartman’s complaints seemed to avert attention away from any further musings, “Kenny and Butters. You assholes are going to come with me to finish building this stupid fucking shed,”

“Aye aye, captain.” Kenny sniffed, stepping over Clyde and Jimmy before offering his two companions a small wink, Butters smiling brightly at the gesture.

“Aw, gee, howdy to you too Ken!”

“Ew, Kenny, don’t be fucking weird,”

And slowly, jobs began to be taken and the day resumed, leaving them all to their thoughts, leaving them to busy themselves to avoid the truth. 

Red was starting to wonder if it was that alone that had gotten them so far.

She lingered just long enough to witness Ike shooting his brother a reproachful glare, before striding out towards the back door. 

Kyle’s voice was strained. “Ike--”

Wendy caught his elbow, keeping the ginger from seeking out the dark mop of hair that was attempting to escape. “He won’t listen to you right now, Kyle. Give him some time,”

Red didn’t have to see his expression to know that Kyle was most likely misty eyed and red faced; Wendy’s cooing being the only indicator she needed. 

“Oh, Kyle…” 

As she made her way towards the front door, she bumped straight into the chest of Stan, who had taken position just outside of eyeshot, wide eyed and utterly conflicted. Red felt a small pang of sympathy for the male’s obvious confusion, offering a small, sympathetic pat on his shoulder before beginning to move again. 

“They didn’t even like each other.” Stan’s statement was hushened, most likely more for himself than anyone else, but Red stayed to listen. “I mean, they didn’t get along at all. Kyle always said that Wendy was too clingy, and she said that Kyle was weirdly fixated on me, so I guess I just never…”

Red snorted. “Believe me, they were at each other’s throats for weeks. Nothing could get done, they were yelling all the time,”

Stan watched, helpless, unwilling to interrupt the intimacy of the moment neither of them should be witness to. “What changed?”

“We did.” Red shrugged, uncomfortable, “But just between you and me, I’m pretty sure that they bonded over missing you,” 

“They’re closer than I ever was to either of them,” Stan’s shoulders were slumped, and really, Red had never been the best at comfort, much less the emotional turmoils of people she was primarily neutral to, but she couldn’t shake the desire to at least try. 

“Things change, Stan.” 

Stan flinched. 

“So if you miss them, then make things change again,” 

The rest of the day went by in between small words and busied forms hidden by trees and cloudy skies. 

It was later that night, as she stared into the flames of their small fire warming condensed cans of soup and watery vegetables, that Red felt a prickly, unwelcome sense of forboding. 

They had succeeded in their deceit. 

But for how long could it last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This chapter was a lot of fun to write, but I hope it’s not too confusing? Basically there was an incident that led to a deal being made between both sides of the town, although a lot of details were left out because they’re a bit, well, violent. But everything will come to light sooner or later, Ike is right about that ;)
> 
> Thank you guys for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning for physical/emotional abuse & mild gore** 
> 
> They didn’t have to know. If they painted their portrait with faded colors and missing lines, the final artwork would still be complete, wouldn’t it?

It was snowing. 

A flurry of splotchy whites and grisly winds settled deep into Kyle’s bones, his teeth chattering, his fingers numbing from the cold. The exact time was indecipherable from the thick, blanketed cloud that stretched across the sun, but Kyle hoped that the day was still fairly early enough-- they had a lot of ground to cover in the miserable weather. 

In years past, they hadn’t polarized themselves with going out into snow unless it proved absolutely needed; seeing as there was always too many factors and risks to be accounted for. 

But they needed more supplies to stow away at Token’s in case of an oncoming blizzard, their emergency stocks now unsustainable with eight additional mouths to feed and bodies to clothe, leading Kyle to the current predicament of traipsing blindly through white, whipping breezes and frosty fallings. 

When it came to being sent out for last minute resources, the general rule was to always take the minimal amount of people required-- in the worst possible scenario, the least amount of those stranded was always far more ideal than half the group becoming separated and forced to brave against harsh conditions, especially since they couldn’t afford heavy losses. 

If they appeared weak, then everything they had built would be taken from them. 

That’s why there were only two bundled, weary figures trudging by Kyle’s side, two of the best when it came to navigation and travelling alone; and truly, their sense of direction was unmatched. 

Kenny and Stan had requested to accompany them with worried, half joking grins and exchanged glances, but they had been denied. The land wasn’t as familiar to them as it once was-- when snow clung heavily to the ground, all trees and houses began to blur together, even more so if you found yourself stumbling through the woods; and it was a chance that Kyle wouldn’t allow them to take. 

Leo had insisted upon his presence, most notably so that he could at least look upon his house during their voyage-- he wouldn’t have much time to check upon his parents, nor could they afford to supply them with much until the snow at least began to dwindle, but it was too dangerous for him to make the trek alone, so Kyle had reluctantly settled for allowing the half blind male to visit during their return, if only for just a moment, if only just to look. 

Kyle truly couldn’t understand why Butters wore himself down so often attempting to take care of his estranged kin. They held the kind of empty headed cruelty that had haunted Leo all throughout his youth, and maybe it was the pessimist in Kyle that insisted Butters would be better off without the responsibility he imposed upon himself of keeping them alive. 

Token, too, had offered to join their small party-- partly due to the hesitation of everyone else to offer, and partly due to his own self proclaimed wish to make himself useful, “In case we end up camping inside for a few days I want to get out now,” he had said. 

If Token was already tiring of the stuffiness of crowded rooms and permeating emotional exhaustion then Kyle worried for his general wellbeing, seeing as their mission was relatively stressful and quite possibly dangerous. 

Kyle supposed they were used to it. 

The camp was nearly impossible to make out, but they found it anyway, as they always had. Kyle, with all the quickness freezing joints and a lack of blood circulation could provide, stuffed as many food cans in the bag he carried as he could manage, pausing to examine their assortment of buildings to see if any had collapsed. 

Token stuffed his arms with clothing, his voice far off and drifting, despite Kyle being able to see his figure through wintry flakes. “It’s getting worse than it was when we left,” His words were somewhat muffled, “We need to hurry before we end up having to crash at Red’s,” 

Butters wielded an axe, his grip white knuckled. He was their backup, in the rare chance of an attack, his arms free of anything that would hinder him from defense. It was an unusual thought, to be fearful of ambush in the hellish conditions-- but Kyle didn’t know what would happen if those who resided in town were to grow more unsettled by the oncoming storm, was unsure of how brave they would become in the face of their already growing confusion. 

He wouldn’t chance it. 

“Fellas, we gotta go. The wind’s picking up real bad,” Butters’s nervous chattering increased to a shout over the howling, rugged wind, “I’m sure we’ve got enough, really!”

Kyle nodded, before realizing that they most likely wouldn’t have been able to make out the gesture, “We should have enough to last us,” he could feel ice gripping dryly at the back of his throat, “Let’s go,”

Every step was a struggle against the force of raw, snowy blasts. 

Kyle could feel his breaths beginning to shallow. 

They were passing by Leo’s street when he suddenly halted, frozen in his movements, rigid. 

“Butters,” Kyle called his name, alarmed, “Butters, what are you doing?” 

“The door’s open.” Butters cursed, “Dammit, why the hell do they have the door open?” 

“We can’t worry about that right now.” Token placed a hand along the smaller blonde’s shoulder, firm and unrelenting. “We’re almost back, we can’t stop now,” 

“They might try to keep you there. We don’t know if they’ve heard about the others coming back or how they’ll react.” Kyle resisted the biting urge to pry Leo away from whatever spectacle his parents had made of themselves, “Token’s right, we don’t have time for this,” 

“Okay.” Butters cleared his throat, steeling himself away, “Okay, you’re right. I’ll come back tomorrow, let’s--”

There was the sudden uproar of commotion, of yells and screams, two voices Kyle had never been particularly fond of. 

Kyle had always dreaded that this day would come. 

Leo was too kind, too selfless, to reliant on the thoughts of others. Kyle had wondered for awhile if maybe, deep down, he was still hoping for his parents to change, for them to care for him in ways they never had, that maybe, just maybe, if he lingered long enough, every grounding, every beating wouldn’t matter anymore. 

The past had been taken from them, and Kyle wondered if Butters only assisted them in hopes of recreating the childhood they stole from him all those painful years ago. 

Regardless of Leopold’s own intentions, he startled at the sounds of their cries, shying away from Token’s outstretched hands as he roughly placed the hatchet within the taller’s grasp. “Don’t you fellas worry, I’ve got another one on me under my jacket,”

“Leo,” Kyle shuddered, “We’re nearly there, you can’t just--”

“I can’t just listen to them cryin’ for help like that!” Butters snapped, his shoulders beginning to deflate, “I know that they’ve done bad things, Kyle. I don’t even like them that much, but if I just listen to them instead of helpin’, then what does that make me?”

“Smart.” Token frowned, “It makes you smart,”

Kyle’s eyes stung from heavy snow, his eyelashes slowly beginning to freeze. “We don’t have enough time--”

Leopold broke out into as much of a run as he could muster, hastening his pace to Token’s, leading Kyle to scramble after his retreating, wordless form. 

Kyle’s eyes were scanning, searching for the blurred outline of his friend, met with nothing but hazy shapes and the outline of trees as he and Token quickly stumbled in through the back gate, welcoming the presence of their companions as they entered the mansion. 

It was only after he scanned the frames scattered around the room that Kyle realized someone was missing. 

He had doubled back. 

Made a show of storming off ahead, most likely close enough to ensure his and Token’s safety before circling around, foolishly, naively, going to defend the imprisoners of any normal youth he could have had, and Kyle couldn’t understand, refused to believe--

“Shit, shit--” 

Kyle could feel them, studying his realization, studying his dread. 

He had failed them. 

Kyle couldn’t afford to fail them, he and Wendy and Token, they made decisions, for the best or worst-- his friend’s lives had become to feel as if they were his responsibility. 

What good was he if he couldn’t manage to keep everything in order, to keep everyone alive and okay? 

Token’s stare was sharp, “He must have circled back around,” 

“What are you guys talking about?” Kenny’s stare was imploring, disbelieving, as though he knew far too well the words they had yet to speak. “Where’s Bunny?” 

“He ran off.” Kyle couldn’t breathe, “His parents were screaming, we thought he went ahead--”

“You left him out there?” Kenny stood, walking the length of the room with urgency, gesturing to the raging whirlwind of snowflakes and biting cold outside their doorstep. 

“No, we didn’t.” Token pinched the bridge of his nose, “He tricked us,” 

“We have to go get him. If his parents were screaming then he could be in some serious shit, too--”

“No, Kenny.” Wendy was already attempting to replace the soaked, dripping coat that clung to Kyle’s frame, gazing at him knowingly, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Butters went back. It was his decision and he knows that. If things are better then we’ll look for him in the morning,” 

Kenny’s reply was dubious, “You want me to stay here while he could be getting killed.”

Wendy frowned, “He can take care of himself, I know that it’s hard--”

“You didn’t have this attitude when Red was in trouble,” 

Wendy flushed, “There wasn’t a blizzard outside when Red was in trouble!” 

There weren’t many faces that had been awaiting their arrival-- many most likely scattered about, huddled in the warmest rooms they could find. Those who were present, however, watched with tense, pensive silence. 

“Listen,” Kenny wrung his hands, “I know the way to Butter’s. I used to visit him literally every night in middle school, so I’m going to find him--”

Wendy lowered her reply, “Karen needs you, Kenny. What if you get yourself hurt trying to undo Butter’s bad decision?”

Kenny responded jaggedly, eyes clouded with an emotion Kyle wasn’t sure he could place, “Don’t bring her into this. I’ll be fine,” 

“You don’t know that, Kenny,” Kyle placed his hands out, wanting nothing more than to simply collapse under the weight of it all. 

“You know what, Kyle? I think I do.” Kenny jostled by him, straightening out the fur jacket clothed around his frame, jerking the hood up roughly. Token passed him the hatchet, silently, observing with obvious disproval as the blonde swung the door open and shut, leaving them to thick, worried murmurings. 

Kyle was still trembling. 

He cared for Leo, truly, but it was all too much, neither he nor Kenny may make it back, and he couldn’t stop either of them, couldn’t do anything but watch, God--

Wendy examined his paling, shaking form, supporting Kyle’s weight slightly as she guided him to the stairwell. There was a welcome face there, all aged and concerned, but for a moment, he looked just as he had in their earlier years. 

“Oh shit, what happened?” Stan caught Kyle’s other arm, gently, following Wendy’s lead as she jerked her head in the general direction they were headed. 

“I’ll explain in a bit. Kyle just needs to rest,” 

Did he? Kyle wasn’t so sure. 

He should have been the one to go, right? Butters was his friend, he had just gotten Kenny back, he should go, he should--

Kyle could feel his knees wanting to buckle beneath him. 

He missed simpler days. 

Leopold shouldn’t have come back.

He wasn’t sure why he had. 

All he really knew, all he could really understand, was that despite everything they had done to him, he had never quite stopped seeking his parents’ validation. 

It could have been the nights spent flinching away from hits too hard and words too harsh, or the days he spent getting teased by the other kids, the small wonderings of if it was what he deserved, if maybe he tried harder, everything would naturally fall into place. 

“You want to be good, don’t you Butters?” 

Maybe if he tried harder, everything would naturally stop hurting. He could be happy, they could a family, he didn’t love his parents, not really, but he wanted to be good, always wanted their praise, wanted them to really care, to just--

Butters just wanted to be good. 

Maybe that was the reason why he came back, even after all this time without change. 

Butters wanted to be good. 

No, that wasn’t quite right. Leo had given up on being good after all the things he had done. 

Leo wanted to be told that he was good; to feel as though he was finally worth something. If he assisted his parents enough, if they came to rely on him, he would be rewarded with all the love he had never received. 

It was a somber thought, that the only one being truly dependent was Leo-- dependent on empty promises and pure manipulation. It was sad, it was bitter, it was the truth in its most vulnerable. 

“You don’t want to be bad, do you?” 

Leo blinked, standing weakly upon shaky legs, “N-now, mom, you know that I should really be gettin’ back,” 

Butters could have never predicted that the news of his friends’ return would spur his empty headed parents to immediate, impulsive action, knowing perfectly well that he would come to ensure their safety during the storm, knowing that once they cornered him it would all be over.

“Things are just so unsafe right now, son. We want you to stay with us,” Stephen Stotch had the front door tightly closed, now that his son was bruised and unarmed, an edge to the flitting lilt of his sentences as he gripped Butters’ axe with white knuckles. 

“It’s all so confusing. How could you not want to come home?” Linda’s nails were digging into the palm of his hand, leaving irritated, red indentions. 

“This--this isn’t my home, mom.” Leo fought against her clutch, yanking away from her outstretched grasp with jerky, ungraceful movements. He swallowed, “I-I won’t ask again, I need to leave!” 

Stephen laughed. “And do what, son? Go back to those good for nothing friends you’ve replaced us with?” His steps were heavy, languid and spiteful. His hands curled around the fabric of Leo’s jacket, cold fingers sending shivers breaking out when they gently brushed his neck, “You just decided to forget all about old mom and dad, huh?” 

Butters could feel his resolve unravelling. If he relented to his stay they may very well never let him leave again-- he had no idea of how long the blizzard would last, nor if any of his companions would bother to entertain the idea of his survival after his recklessness. 

Didn’t he deserve it?

No, he couldn’t think like that, they loved him, they were his real family, they cared, they cared, he wasn’t bad. 

The impact of his father’s fist sent Butters reeling over, breathless and coughing, dizzy. 

It was just like back then. 

Leo closed his eyes, feeling his pulse quicken, struggling to escape the desperate panic that made his chest feel as though his heart was attempting to collapse in on itself. 

So he went back.

It was his twelfth birthday, and his parents had insisted upon keeping him home and monitored, with no party or friends to be had. His only present had been the notion that, for once, his body remained unscathed, leaving only his mind and sense of self to be damaged as they yelled, and jibed, and broke every functioning component of his esteem down until there was nothing left. 

Butters had retired himself to gazing dazedly at his window with tired eyes and a lonesome evening regime of his own weary, forlorn company. 

Orange. 

How Leo had come to cherish the color. 

Kenny McCormick was swinging his legs idly, albeit a bit carelessly, happily perched along the branch of Leo’s backyard tree, extending his arm to grab the distracted blonde’s attention. He scooted along the wood, balancing his weight as Butters met him at the windowsill. 

His parents had caught them both when Kenny had snuck in two weeks ago, and there was now a screen that sat rigidly between them, glued and unmovable. Still, they could speak, and a little company had been the only wish Leo could have made in earnest. 

“Hey, Butterfree,” Kenny’s parka was fastened tightly around him, small strands of dirty blonde hair poking out and framing a kind, freckled face. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t get you anything. My mom got laid off of work for a bit, so any money I managed to get had to go to her,”

“That’s okay Kenny! Boy, am I glad that you’re here,” Leo leaned on his palms, whispering so as not to alert his parents of his visitor, “You know, even if I wasn’t grounded, I don’ think I would’ve thrown a party anyhow,”

Kenny blinked, “Why not?”

“You know, I don’t think anyone else besides you woulda even shown up,” Leo grinned, “But that’s alright, because I don’t need them if you’re here, Ken!”

Kenny had just laughed, sweet and child like, “You can always count on me to be here, Bunny,” 

There was a noise, loud and jarring, that snapped Butters away from his momentary escapism. 

For a moment, the harsh voices around him quietened as his parents exchanged a questioning, menacing glance. 

“Your wouldn’t let any of your little buddies hurt us, would you Butters?” His mother grabbed his face, “That wouldn’t make you a very good boy,” 

Butters stifled the tears that threatened to leak from his watery eyes. “Mom--”

“That wouldn’t make you much of anything.” She shoved him back against the wall, cold, “You were always such a bad kid. Always getting yourself grounded-- Stephen and I had no choice but to punish you and still nothing ever worked,” 

“St-stop pushin’ me around, damn you!” Butters felt the atmosphere shift, could hear the loud, insistent pounding coming from the front door, “You-- you don’t get to keep me here, I wanna leave!”

Had they really come back for him?

His father was fast approaching, “You won’t speak to us like that--”

He could hear muffled yelling from beyond the door, words indecipherable from the persistent wind. 

Leo swallowed, “I-I’m in here!” he yelled, slapping away his mother’s hands as they searched to silence him. 

And then, as quickly as it came, the sudden influx of noise withdrew, until all that was left was the loud panting of Butter’s shallow, heaving breaths. 

And for a moment no one moved. 

For a singular, blissful moment, Butters could happily reflect that for once, his parents simply stared. 

And then came the laughing. 

His father, cruel and unhinged, cackling with such pure delight. “Did you hear that, Butters?” He sneered, “They left you!” 

“You shouldn’t have ever believed that they cared for you more than your own parents,” Linda hissed at him, standing firmly at her husband’s side, glaring with obvious reproach. 

Butters couldn’t prevent the tears that warmed his face, this time. 

“After all,” She scoffed, lowering her venomous leerings down to a sweet murmur.

“You’re just not good enough for them, are you?”

The shattering of glass echoed about their empty upstairs, startling, sharp. 

His father stilled, wielding the axe that wasn’t his, snarling. “Who’s up there?”

“Leo?” 

The shout came drifting from down the stairs, loud and piercing. “Leo, are you down there?” 

Nothing would ever compare to the sight of Kenny standing at the top of his living room stairs, all wide eyed and kind, looking to Butters as if he was made up of all the good in the world and then some. 

“Ken!” Butters pulled away from Linda’s writhing hands, violent fingers snaking around his throat before he slammed her backwards into the wall. 

Kenny had tatters hanging from his coat, a few cuts to his face from the glass he had jumped through. 

There was only one way he could have entered from upstairs. 

Leo could always count on Kenny. 

Stephen had never liked Kenny much, always forcing Butters to listen to his complaints that the impoverished boy was a bad influence, always promising less punishments if only Leo would simply forget him. 

It was the one thing Butters could say he had always refused.

And now there he was, gazing down upon the unfolding scene with a cold, detached sort of fury. 

Leo had never seen anything quite so welcome in all his years of bleak living. 

Stephen met Kenny at the steps, swinging the axe with unpracticed clumsiness, catching the front of Kenny’s shirt as the latter tripped backwards. 

His father held up the blade high above his head, preparing for the fatal swing downwards.

There was something red hot that flowed through Butters’ veins, all liquid metal and positively scorching until all he could see was red. 

Leo could never say how it happened. 

All he really knew for certain was that, in the end, the fight had been concluded with Butters’s axe tearing down through his father’s throat, blood spattering the walls and seeping out from the bubbling, screaming wound. 

What he could say, however, was that Kenny had held his mother firmly in place from behind with bleeding wounds and a grimace tinted with glazed emptiness as Butters swung, once, twice, three times, warmth splashing onto his face and stinging his eyes but Leo didn’t stop there, kept swinging until the shrieks subsided, until all that he could see was the disfigured lump of meat and exposed bone that had once been his mother’s profile. 

Leo had always been told they had the same face.

Time was ticking by ever so slowly. 

It was the brief murmuring that swept across the expanse of Token’s house, the gut wrenching worry, the fear. 

Leo and Kenny had made their choices. It went without saying that if someone acted recklessly, it was their job to act alone. It was painful, it was hard, but it was the only way to ensure the general survival of the group. 

They had tried to keep it from Karen, but somewhere in between the whispers and the anxious pacing she had awoken, the poor girl immediately sending herself into a state of panic at the news of her brother’s leave. Tricia had cradled her close, agreeing to sit and wait patiently in the living room for Kenny and Butters’ awaited return with a resigned, passive sort of forboding. 

Kyle and Wendy were upstairs, recollecting themselves, always shouldering so much more than they deserved to, always fervently taking on whatever blame they possibly could. 

Token was keeping everything else in order, making sheepish rounds from room to room to check on the general state of things. Some had left themselves to uneasy slumber, others to keen, persistent conversation. 

That left Tweek to handle the girls. 

It was something he did frequently enough-- Tricia had taken to him quickly over the years in Craig’s absence, and seeing as she and Karen were practically conjoined at the hip, things naturally fell into place, as they often do; and Tweek found himself feeling personally responsible for their wellbeing. 

Tricia was hardened and stubborn, with skin lighter than her brother’s but with eyes just as sharp, ginger hair usually tucked away and out of her face. She had the tendency to avoid falling into the spiral of deep reflection, choosing instead to focus on the neverending problems of the present. 

Karen was sensitive and kind in nature, with a lightly freckled face shaped that resembled Kenny’s more so than her lost elder sibling. Meek in her dealings with even those she was familiar with, it was no wonder she and Tricia grounded one another, balancing out the opposing traits and shortcomings with perfected ease. 

Whenever the girls faced an issue that warranted more assistance than what was available between them, they sought out Tweek’s advice. Whenever they found themselves with spare time on their hands, it was typically Tweek’s company they searched for. 

He couldn’t say why they preferred his somewhat paranoid, ocassionally spastic tendencies, but the notion of him being there providing any sort of comfort was certainly enough for Tweek. Karen was pale and sick looking, Tricia rubbing circles into the small of her back, words lowered and pointed. Tweek sat with them, alert and listening, offering assurances whenever Tricia requested his affirmation. 

There was a part of him that felt guilty, though. 

Because when Karen gazed at him so hopefully, Tweek couldn’t bring himself to voice the truth of the situation, couldn’t manage to shatter her hopes by revealing that he truly wasn’t sure of her brother’s safety. 

It was a cruel thing, to have him back, to have him taken. 

Life was a cruel thing, though. 

That was a fact even the most optimistic of them were accustomed to. 

Behind him, Tweek heard the creaking of wood as it sunk beneath someone’s weight, and he startled at the sound. 

“Hey.” Craig’s greeting was hoarse, his throat dry from what Tweek assumed to be a lack of use within the past few hours. He placed himself a healthy distance away, cross legged, knee barely hovering against Tweek’s own.   
Craig studied his sister wordlessly, Tricia’s eyes flashing with a recognizable sense of irritation as she gestured to Karen with her hand. 

Tweek winced. 

Having Tricia’s safe, unharmed brother sitting with them at this moment in time was most likely not what Karen needed. It wasn’t anything against Craig personally-- it simply served as a reminder, a possibly fatal one, about what she may have very well lost; for the second time. 

Karen’s stare was directed towards the front door, absent, waiting. 

Realization seemed to hit Craig as he audibly released a small “Oh,”

Tricia continued to shoo him away with her hand, silent and filled with obvious contempt, relaying her grievances with all the tough love she could manage without disturbing her friend. 

With a sigh, Craig heaved his lanky limbs upward, shoving his hands deep within his pockets. He turned to leave, most likely making haste to return to the basement where he had been residing. 

Tweek met Tricia’s keen eye as she motioned for him to follow, shrugging in a way that indicated that she wouldn’t be particularly upset if he departed, and against his better judgement, he followed. 

It was easily the coldest, stuffiest part of the house, leaving it primarily vacant and unused, and it was with these reasons in mind that Craig had most likely sought it out immediately. There was a faded sofa and damaged pool table, a television and game set that may never be used again, and worn, lumpy bean bags that were flopped over sadly from former years of boyish rough housing. 

Token had always chastised them for being too rough on the bean bags. 

Clyde was contentedly sprawled out along the couch’s surface, snoring lightly, leg dangling awkwardly onto the floor. His face was still round, but no longer tinged with youth, and truthfully, it was strange how Tweek hadn’t paid much notice to this change, it was strange how many memories flooded his head of the brunette sleeping in that very same position countless times before. 

“Clyde,” Craig lightly touched his arm, managing to only receive a few grumbles in response to his attempted waking.

Craig sighed, promptly tugging on Clyde’s leg and pulling him to the floor without mercy. 

Tweek blanched. “Uh--” 

Clyde scrambled to his knees, dazed from sleep and the sudden, clumsy shifting of his body to the cold floor, wide eyed and flustered. He glowered at Craig’s smug expression, “You’re such an ass,” 

“You weren’t waking up and there wasn’t enough room,” 

“You could have sat somewhere else!” 

“Tweek is here.” Craig spoke the words as if they carried some sort of heaviness-- as if they held any sort of meaning that negated the fact that he had just shoved Clyde to the ground. 

Clyde lit up immediately, his eyes raking the blonde’s frame before practically launching himself, arms wrapping tightly around Tweek’s shoulders. “Tweekers! You’ve been so busy I’ve hardly gotten to talk to you, and I didn’t want to keep you from doing your thing, but I was thinking that maybe you just didn’t want to see me for some reason--” 

“He’s been sulking,” Craig plopped onto the freshly vacant sofa. 

“No one asked you!” Clyde paused his ramblings to bite out a retort to Craig’s comment before eagerly continuing, “I’ve already talked to Token-- we need to get all of the old group back, you know? You, Craig, Token, Jimmy, me--” 

Craig pinched the bridge of his nose, “Clyde, there’s not a lot of time for that--”

“We could make time,” 

“Tweek, if you get tired of him just aim for his sides,” 

There was a gentle ringing in his ears, pulsating and thorough. Tweek could hardly register their words. 

He was struck by the sudden urge to cry. 

And it wasn’t necessarily because of the time they had lost, or the goals they had never gotten to accomplish, or the graduations never seen, but because of the sudden realization that maybe they could have the good in their lives back again. 

Tweek, truthfully, had been making himself a little busier than he needed to be. 

It hurt, seeing them almost as they were but not quite, knowing that there was unspoken knowledge that no one truly knew where they stood with anyone.   
Tweek hadn’t wanted to see Clyde, or Jimmy, or anyone. 

It wasn’t because of who they had become. 

It was because of him. 

Wendy and Red were right-- there were some deeds best left alone, some demons of their pasts that could truly ruin everything. 

Tweek relaxed into the embrace, circling his arms around his long time friend’s neck, earning a triumphant shout from Clyde himself as he openly jeered, “In your face, Craig! He’s totally fine,” 

Tweek pulled back, smiling. 

He was totally fine. 

They didn’t have to know. If they painted their portrait with faded colors and missing lines, the final artwork would still be complete, wouldn’t it? 

They didn’t have to bear witness to the red strokes of the demons from his past. 

Art was subjective, much like the life it imitated, falling in between the monochrome, grey borders of pressing morality, and really, Tweek just wanted to feel whole again. 

Truthfully, maybe Tweek wasn’t as fine as he hoped. 

But if he could keep his mistakes from being cast alight, then he could be, and for now, that was enough. 

They entertained themselves with fond memories, Clyde’s enthusiasm slowly drawing to a more sleep induced kind of joy, tufts of straggly hair framing dimpled cheeks as his slurred words began to dwindle, until the noise of the room was idly replaced by light breathing and the sleeping presence nestled between Tweek and Craig’s lazed figures. 

“He used to get mad when I wouldn’t talk with him about that kind of thing.” Craig broke their shell of quiet, sniffing, “I said that there wasn’t any point,” 

Tweek smiled sympathetically, “What did Clyde say?” 

“He said that he didn’t really think there was a point to anything anymore,” Tweek caught the shifting of tan skin in his peripheral, “But I think I was lying,” 

Tweek shook his head in wry amusement, “Nngh--you think?” 

“Yeah.” Craig scratched his neck, “I guess I thought that if I didn’t acknowledge anything that it would go away,” 

It was painfully familiar in a way that of course only Craig Tucker would be. 

It was during the worst of nights, fatigued and sick and paranoid, coming down from the clutches of his parent’s drug induced self treatment that Tweek wished more so than anything to reset. Not to start everything anew, but to fully embody a state of emotional void, blank and mentally away. 

He was on the verge of sharing, just barely opening his mouth to speak, before Tweek’s doubts forced him to think better of it. He wiped clammy palms along his pants, gnawing his bottom lip between his teeth. The discovery of his parent’s (meth)od of control had set off the very chain reaction that had landed them in their game of tiptoe and secrecy, and he wasn’t ready to share that much spoken vulnerability with anyone, much less himself. 

So instead Tweek averted the dangerous direction of their conversation. “Did Tricia tell you about Stripe?” 

Craig watched him for a moment, features relaxed but somehow pressing, expression indecipherable. 

Tweek briefly wondered if he was still so easy to see through. 

“Thank you for taking care of him.” Tweek almost wanted to wince at the earnesty of Craig’s gratitude, feeling as if it was really what any decent person would have done, “I know that it wasn’t easy. He was older anyway, it’s impressive he even lived past a few more months,”

“I can take you to his grave later,” Tweek flushed at his blurting, unsure of whether to accept the thanks he felt was undeserved, “It’s in your backyard. His cage is where it was before, too,” 

Craig blinked, “You made him a grave,” 

Tweek nodded, “Agh, well, s-sorta, it’s a little janky to be honest, I could only find so much to use as a gravemarker, so--”

“In the middle of,” Craig gestured with his hands, “Fuck-- whatever the hell this is?” 

Tweek furrowed his brows, uncertain of what point Craig was attempting to convey.“It really didn’t take that m-much time, I just-- I really liked Stripe, too, and I thought that if you ever came back you’d want--” 

“Tweek, that’s just--you’re just…” Craig grappled with words, strained, before eventually settling for a small, vulnerable grin. “You’re great, you know that?” 

Tweek, too, found himself victim to fighting for an at least decently intelligent response but was saved the effort by the sudden shouting and eager steps sounding from above their heads. 

He startled to his feet, “Th-that should be Kenny and Butters,” 

Tweek practically took the steps two at a time, feeling Craig’s steady climbings behind him, anxious and eager. He jerked to a sudden halt, roughly, the lanky male trailing close behind nearly sending them both falling from the suddenness. 

There was a crowd, most fallen still and stricken with horror, others yelling and exclaiming in shock. 

They were certainly back. 

In the center of the room Leo stared at the floor, covered in sickening, bright crimson, chest heaving, knees quivering. 

Kenny was pale faced and sweaty, hands stained with obvious grime. “On the bright side,” His skin was nearly whiter than Tweek’s, his tremorous comment breaking halfway through, “Most of it isn’t our blood,” 

Tweek swallowed. 

So much for hiding the red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Leo’s thoughts & feelings regarding his parents in no way represents all victims of abuse! His mentality was based on personal experience in years past. If you’re struggling with a similar situation there are resources available to help, such as the national domestic violence hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> Hello again! This was a difficult chapter to write, but I’m glad I was able to finish it in a semi timely manner :) just a reminder that this story has dark themes and sensitive topics, so trauma such as this will be touched upon in future chapters. If these trigger you, please don’t put yourself at risk! 
> 
> As always, critiques and comments are always highly appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the only defense any of them had left. Perhaps, if it wasn’t spoken, it would simply be. Maybe, if they forced it to silence, they could close the walls and crash the barriers built against the tender, fraying edge of time and trauma.

Clyde found himself staggering up the stairs belatedly, having missed a good bit of excitement, but certainly not much if the muffled yells coming from the kitchen was anything to go by. 

For all the many faces present, it was strange that the room felt nearly empty, save for the small murmurs buzzing about and the unignorable next room shouting. 

Bebe spotted him immediately, seeking him out with visible trepidation. “Clyde, you won’t believe it,” 

“This is a fucking dumpster fire!” 

“Cartman, no one even asked you to come in here! Shut the hell up, you’re not helping!”

Clyde swallowed. The door to the next room was tightly shut, but the noise of Eric and Kyle’s screaming match escaped regardless. He heard what sounded like frustrated scolding, multiple voices speaking up over one another, the sheer intensity of it enough to form an oncoming headache. “Jesus, did one of them not make it back?” 

Bebe bit her lip. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…” 

“They killed them.” Nichole attached herself to Bebe’s arm, whispering, brown eyes shifting uneasily. “Leo’s parents. They tried to keep him there, there was a fight--” 

Bebe nodded, “Kenny said that Stephen was trying to hit him with an axe--” 

“Linda was trying to strangle Butters, or something like that, but now Kyle and the rest are fighting.” Nichole scratched her neck, wary. “Butters hasn’t said a word since they got here, Kenny was the only one talking at all.” Her eyes peered around, careful for any straggling listeners. “There was so much blood,” 

Bebe nodded, face flushed a sickly color, “I guess we’re just all kinds of fucked up, aren’t we?” she laughed, breathless but utterly devoid of humor. Clyde felt his stomach sink at the sudden springing of red, teary eyes. 

“I hate that this is how we ended up.” Bebe rubbed at her cheeks, angry, “None of us deserved this. We were just kids, it’s not fair,” her voice was breaking, “Don’t you think we should all just talk about it? Everything-- all the stuff we haven’t said about what happened to their families,”

Clyde startled, swerving his head, relieved to find others occupying their own anxiety ridden conversations. “I know, I know. But how can we explain what we can’t even fully remember? I mean, we thought that these guys were dead, so maybe-- maybe there’s things we’re wrong about,” 

Bebe’s stare was pained. “You don’t know that, Clyde,” 

Clyde frowned, reaching for her hands. “It’ll be fine. We’ve always been fine in the end, right? We’ll get through anything,” 

Bebe held her tongue, most likely desiring to stop herself from completely crumbling. She squeezed his palm with trembling fingers. 

Nichole wrapped herself around Bebe’s side, whispering small things Clyde couldn’t catch. His eyes flitted about the expanse of the living room, bleakly taking in slackened postures and stressed profiles.

There were some faces missing. Many of whom Clyde assumed were busying themselves in the kitchen with a not so subtle conversation-- others most likely hiding away from the conflict, at least for now. Tricia and Karen, for one, had passed Clyde in the hall, Red and Kevin hastily following their lead. 

Tweek was obviously fighting a great deal of inner turmoil, biting his nails and fidgeting harshly. Stan, Craig and Jimmy were engaging one another in a small circle of speculation, but Clyde didn’t miss the way Craig’s eyes kept drifting. 

Heidi and Ike were speaking, rather awkwardly, Clyde thought-- but he supposed it was nice enough of them to attempt to get acquainted. 

He pondered something for a moment.

And then, suddenly, the panicked atmosphere made sense. It was a brief clicking into place, and then Clyde excused himself from Bebe’s grasp, crossing the expanse of the room with long steps, stopping before Tweek’s searching gaze. 

“Hey.” The greeting was careful and curt, green eyes masked behind something deeper, something fearful, the small hint of suspicion furthering Clyde’s resolve. 

“Tweek,” Clyde attempted to act casually, offering a smile that felt as if it resembled a grimace, “I was just thinking about something Wendy and Kyle had said about the deal,” 

“You were.” It wasn’t questioning, wasn’t aggressive, but it was certainly rather guarded. Tweek’s arms were crossed, his foot tapping restlessly. 

Clyde would have felt guilty about cornering him if it wasn’t for the doubts weighing so heavily on his mind. He kept his wording free of any accusatory tones, shrugging, “It’s just-- you know. The deal works on both ends, right?” 

Tweek flinched. “Nngh-- what are you saying?” 

Those green eyes pierced him through. Tweek was keen and intuitive, but more than that, he couldn’t mask his emotions. 

Clyde was afraid he had already found his answer. 

“They tried to kidnap Red, so you guys did a number on them, I get that, but what about murder?” 

Tweek shuddered, wordless. 

Clyde pressed further still, sweat beading at his forehead. “What happens if they find out about Butters’ parents?” 

There wasn’t a reply. 

“Tweek?”

“Argh-- I don’t know, man, we’ll just--we’ll figure it out!” Tweek attempted to brush by, “I can’t answer that right now, I need to find Karen,” 

Clyde remembered Kevin McCormick. 

Just how had he died? 

Things were falling out of place, and Clyde was afraid, far more than he’d like to admit. 

What was the price for retribution? Did death lead to more death? If the adults discovered what had occurred, would one of them be next? Did Leo know this and kill his parents regardless?

A painful ringing stabbed through Clyde’s head, loud and unforgiving, his headache forcing him to clench his teeth. His knees weakened, nearly sending him to the floor as he leaned his weight against the wall. 

Tweek squeaked, “Oh, Jesus--” his arms kept Clyde upright, more careful than he would have anticipated. “Are you dying?”

Clyde easily could have barked out a laugh if not for the hammering within his skull. Tweek was holding him steady, saying things that sounded far off and hazily distanced. 

The floor was spinning. 

There was movement, warmth spreading hotly through pulsating temples, before he shivered in a lungful of air, gasping against the spasms of his head. 

The ringing subsided. 

Winded, Clyde offered a weak chuckle, looking up to see Craig and Bebe fast approaching. He slithered out of Tweek’s grasp, “Man, that one was a doozy.” Placing his hands up, Clyde attempted to placate the blonde’s flabbergasted state, “I have some serious chronic headaches-- side effects from messed up stuff, you-- you know the drill,” 

Tweek definitely did not know the drill. 

“Shit, that looked like it hurt.” Craig hovered, not quite wanting to invade Clyde’s space, knowing how he absolutely detested how weak he felt when he had to be physically supported. “You should sleep it off,”

Clyde waved him off. “Whatever, mom. I literally just woke up,” 

“Clyde.” Bebe linked their arms-- a silent plea. “Let’s go back downstairs. We can’t do anything to help right now, anyway,” 

“I always miss literally everything! I don’t want to go.” Clyde whined, hoping that the lingering tears of pain in his eyes would be enough to convince.

But then he felt a painful, stubborn tug along the taut strings of his heart upon seeing Bebe’s expression, bordering once again on the verge of tears, and he knew then that he really couldn’t deny Bebe much of anything, especially when he knew better than anyone just how much worry consumed her. 

He could feel green eyes along his back, but Clyde nodded anyway. 

They both knew that it wasn’t over. And it wasn’t doubt born out of malice, nor it was it distrust alone, but--

It didn’t really need to be said. 

After so many years apart, so many different excruciating experiences, it was only natural that they trusted certain companions more than others. After everything both parties had been through, it was only human nature that they held one another out at arms length, not because it was what they wanted, but because it was all they truly knew. 

No one had figured out just how, exactly, they were supposed to bridge the gap between secrets unspoken and fearful prophecies unfulfilled-- and no amount of exclusive, one sided meetings could ever manage to change that. It made Clyde a hypocrite, to want to know it all so desperately, to hold things to himself that he knew the others would want to know about what had become of the former people they loved, but he kept it anyway. 

It was the only defense any of them had left. Perhaps, if it wasn’t spoken, it would simply be. Maybe, if they forced it to silence, they could close the walls and crash the barriers built against the tender, fraying edge of time and trauma. 

“Sure thing, Bebs.” Clyde grinned, “So long as Craig comes to get me if anything exciting happens,”

Bebe offered a smile of genuine relief, “Sounds like a plan, then,” her hands carded through his hair, gentle.

Clyde allowed himself to be whisked away, closing his eyes against the foreboding lull of voices and heated chatter, to be distracted from realizations nearly made, from pieces nearly connected--he had been close, he knew, to something that really mattered. 

But Clyde had never prided himself on being strong willed against adversity when faced with other, more pleasant ways to partake in the rare joys his life offered. 

Clyde eventually drifted off with blonde curls tickling his skin, warmth fluttering in his chest and churning within the pit of his stomach. 

Everything else could wait. 

It would all still be there when he awoke. 

But Clyde let himself think otherwise, if only for a moment. 

He had always been particularly good at denial. 

Eric was getting real sick of everyone’s shit, that much was for certain. 

Cartman held no love for Butters’ sorry, pathetic excuse of parents-- in fact, there had been times where he had truly contemplated just ending them altogether, just to save everyone else the trouble of always dealing with the aftermath of whatever strange, dysfunctional family episodes they had at the absolute worst of times. 

What had always stopped him hadn’t been Leo’s pleads themselves, but rather, the understanding that the agreement between them and the rest of the crazy shitheads of South Park went with the mutual understanding that with action came consequence. They had tried to kidnap Red-- alright, one of you gets your heads bashed in, the rest can scram and make sure everyone else knows that shit still stands how it was before. 

This was the world they had created for themselves, and morals be damned, it had gotten them this far.

Linda and Stephen had hardly ever left the house, almost completely reliant on their son to supply them through the years. Hell, Eric truly doubted that they would be missed or even mourned over by anyone except themselves-- but it was the sheer principle of the murders that would fuck them over the most. 

This wasn’t simple retribution, this was a declaration. Maybe not intentionally, but it would be interpreted as such, shown that they should have tried harder to kill all of those kids years ago, that they were right in being the piece of shit fuckwads they were when trying to terrorize children. This was so much more than just the murder of two imbecilic parents, it was violence that would warrant death— something they couldn’t afford. 

The question now was where they would go from here. 

Leo was stark white and covered in crusty, flaking blood from his fingers to his ear tips, having yet to utter a single word or input into their discussion. Kenny, much to Cartman’s dismay, was allowed to listen and actively contribute since he was both a witness and accomplice-- Eric had been overruled in his demand that Kenny leave, mainly because there were some things that still shouldn’t be said around former outsiders. The entire ordeal of their friends’ lives now being at stake was one of those things, because somehow, some way, Cartman was confident that someone would let it slip that these things had happened before, that the deal was founded on so much more than just words alone. 

Eric really didn’t want to have to be the one to explain just how much shit they were in. 

“Let me get this straight.” Kenny pointed at Kyle, “You’re saying that if their bodies are found, they’re going to come after us?” 

“Yes, Kenny, that’s exactly what I’m saying!” Kyle was red faced and sweating. 

“Jesus Christ, Kyle, maybe you should have-- I don’t know, fucking mentioned that whatever ‘agreement’ you guys have involves murder?” Kenny quoted the word ‘agreement’ with his fingers before jabbing his finger into the center of the ginger’s chest. 

“I never thought you’d go out and kill them!” 

“Shit fucking happens, it’s not like we planned it!” 

Wendy stepped hastily in between their arguing frames, though her words were biting, eyes narrowed at Kenny venomously from his previous threatening proximity. “That’s not the point. Kenny, you couldn’t have known. Butters, on the other hand--” 

“Not this shit again.” Kenny balled up his fists, “He was scared and upset. His parents were going psycho, there wasn’t another way! Just leave him out of it,” 

“I can’t do that.” Wendy swallowed, “I just want him to understand where this puts us. I know that it must have been really upsetting, but things are fragile and we can’t just go around doing as we please--”

Cartman snorted. “Get off your fucking high horse, Wendy. We all know we’re fucked, now we need to figure out how to un-fuck ourselves,” 

Wendy and Kyle both flushed at that, the former readying herself for a retort when Token saved her the effort of responding. “We don’t have the resources to clean the place, but we can still get rid of the bodies,” 

“How?” Kyle sighed, “It’ll be difficult trying to transport them, we don’t have any bags big enough, and even if we did, it would still look suspicious as hell,”

Token hummed, “I was thinking about that. I may have a solution, but it’s not a pleasant one.” He stretched his limbs, passing Leo a sympathetic glance before he spoke, “We’d need to chop them. Once we did we could have a bonfire in the woods to get rid of them for good, but that still doesn’t solve what we do about all the blood,” 

Leo lurched forward, throwing open the kitchen window hastily before emptying his stomach contents over the railing. Kenny’s hand hovered before he lowered it, hesitant, rubbing circles along the blonde’s back. When Butters pulled back he was wiping bile from the edges of his mouth, face wet and splotchy from tears. “I-I’m real sorry, I dunno what came o-over me, I--” His explanation was broken by breathy sobs, and Cartman decided that he had enough of listening to Wendy’s bitching and Kyle’s stupid frets. 

“Butters, you still have blood on you, and that’s, like, really gross. Kenny, go get water from the backyard.” Cartman didn’t wait for Leo to follow, knowing fully well that he would trail after Eric’s confident steps. Their exit wasn’t protested, but damn, he hadn’t prepared himself for the absolute awkwardness that was everyone staring at them so expectantly. Like Jesus, what was he supposed to say, it’s not like they didn’t know what had happened. He hated the way their eyes followed, as if them openly pondering Butters’ mental state was any help to anyone at all, like them congregating outside of what was clearly intended to be a private (albeit loud) exchange was somehow helpful. 

Cartman felt Heidi’s worrying gaze, and he met it with a small nod, hoping that she could wait at least another half hour or so before he confirmed her concerns regarding what they would have to do next. She smiled, slightly, and Eric continued guiding Leo away from the prying silence. They reached the bathroom and Cartman grabbed Butters’ familiar, tacky pink toothbrush that he’d need to replace after the next shipment, and slid the toothpaste down the counter. “Puke is gross,” Was all that Eric had said, but a part of him hoped to convey words his pride would never allow him to.

He didn’t hate Leo, after all, they were-- well, they were friends. Butters was easy to manipulate when they were kids, sure, and once it was made clear that their childhood was officially over, Cartman hadn’t found any more uses for him, or for anyone, really. 

But then things weren’t so simple, and he was glad to have been fucked over with the people he was fucked over with, and maybe he was still headstrong and petulant, but Eric wasn’t a child anymore. An ass, sure, but he wasn’t completely heartless. 

“Wendy’s a bitch, don’t listen to her. Like she knows jackshit anyway,” Cartman averted his eyes away from Butters’ stricken cries, unsure of how to proceed. “And Kyle, just being his useless Jew self--” 

“I killed them, Eric.” 

Cartman froze. “Butters--” 

“I killed them, Eric!” Leo bawled, hugging his arms to his chest, “Oh God, and n-now we broke the deal! I ruined everythin’ we-- we worked so hard to--” swallowing, he continued, “A-after that night at the elementary school I really thought the worst of it was over, you know? I--I th-thought that i-it was symbolic, and that we’d be alright,” 

Cartman startled, head swerving to the door upon the mention of their former school and the incident that surrounded it. “Uh, Butters, you might want to be a little quieter,” 

“I just can’t believe I did this, Eric,” Leo blubbered, tugging at the blood stained fabric of his jacket, “O-oh God,” 

It was the sound of creaking hinges and sploshing water that announced Kenny’s arrival, the usual freckled smile that Cartman could picture replaced by a thin, stressed line. Muttering curses under his breath, Kenny placed the bucket down hastily, splashing them as he did so. “It’ll be enough to get the blood off for now,” 

Wordlessly, Cartman tossed Kenny a rag, turning to make his leave. 

“Y-you don’ need to stay, Ken, I can get it off myself.” Leo’s protest quivered. 

“It’s alright, Butterfly. I’m just here to keep you company,” 

Cartman could tell that he was obviously more upset than he intended to let on, but supposed that it was his decision to shoulder that burden, and resolved for returning back down to the lower level. 

If they were to carry out Token’s plan, it would need to be relatively soon. No one would want to mutilate decomposing bodies, and the sooner they completed the task, the less chance there was of any sort of aftermath that would bite them in the ass. With no evidence, they could find excuses-- they had shot a deer and dragged it back to Leo’s to be skinned, Wendy had gotten her period and shapeshifted into the hell demon she really was, whatever. They would work out the details later, those were unimportant. 

There were corpses to be rid of, and God knew only a handful of them could stomach that. 

When Cartman made his reappearance at the bottom of the stairs, he nearly collided with the chin of one clearly perturbed Stan Marsh, blue eyes glued to Eric’s profile. “Cartman, are you guys seriously going to butcher Butters’ parents?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Eric sniffed, unsure of why Kyle had decided to share their plan-- he had been hoping to save the moral debates for later, after their task had already been completed. “Listen, Stan, you’re kind of in the way,” 

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?” 

Cartman sighed, “No, Stan, there’s not. I never knew you were such a bitch boy for the Stotchs’,” 

Stan clenched his fists, “Fuck off Cartman. It’s just that-- it’s just kind of morbid? To burn them?” What had started out as a firey declaration had dwindled into furrowed brows and blatant uncertainty. “I don’t think that can be good for anyone mentally,” 

Eric blinked. 

“You know, burning people,” 

The laugh that erupted from Cartman’s throat was enough to nearly send him toppling over. Stan stepped backwards, watching on with a conflicting mixture of frustration and embarrassment as Eric struggled to catch his breath. 

“You’re a fucking genuis, Stan. I’ve never heard anything so damn smart in all my life,” It was hilarious in a pathetic sense, ironic and disturbing, and Eric couldn’t wait for the day when it all went to shit once Stan and the rest realized just how far gone their former friends were, just how desperate they had been to survive. 

There was a fire in Eric, and it was all consuming. Sometimes it whispered ideas of revenge and self-serving sacrifice, but more than that, it applauded the things he did without mercy. 

They had lit a fire years ago, and even if the smoke had long since died the flames continued to eat away at them day by day, scorching their insides and leaving them in a constant state of hot tempered destruction. 

Cartman brushed by Stan’s open mouthed gape, satisfied to see a small group already formed by the door with bags and blades in tow. Wendy’s hair was pulled out of her sickly face, Kyle standing rigid at her side, silently fuming at Eric’s outburst. Token, too, had joined them, all thin lipped and grim. 

They silently made a reluctant move for the outside when Cartman heard Stan’s unmistakable clumsy steps fast approaching. 

“Wait.” 

Something in Kyle’s gaze flickered as he met Stan’s plea. 

Wendy’s hand had faltered, but her attention was elsewhere, still pointed towards the task that had befallen them; she refused to turn around. 

“I want to help you guys.” Stan shuffled, “I mean, it’s always the same people who are stuck with this shit, so--” 

“Stan.” Kyle looked on in disbelief, “You’re not cutting up a dead body,” 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not your responsibility,” 

Stan bristled, “I knew you would say that! Hell, Kyle, can’t you give me any other reason that’s not total bullshit?”

Kyle scowled, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re too scared to say that you don’t think I can handle it.” Stan gripped at the fabric of his shirt, tense, “You don’t think any one of us can handle it, do you?”

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was referring to. 

The obvious exclusion had been made clear from the beginning, and in Eric’s opinion, it was better for it to stay that way. 

He just wasn’t sure how to convince those who seemed to disagree. And judging by the sudden looks they were receiving from those lingering about, there were many who did. 

Kyle’s cheeks reddened, his open mouthed retort interrupted by Wendy’s resolve. “Let him come,” 

He whipped around to face her, meeting only the back of Wendy’s head. “What?”

“I said we should let him come.” Wendy raised her voice, “Is there anyone else who wants to see what they’re missing?” 

Eric rolled his eyes. Whatever three way lovers quarrel was unfolding, he desired no part of it, wanted nothing more than for them all to just get over themselves behind closed doors. The point the female hellspawn was making didn’t matter very much to Cartman, he truly just wished Wendy’s frame would finally make way for them to exit. 

So much for getting to talk to Heidi. 

When they finally made their escape, dusk was beginning to set upon them with murky, faded orange skies and a distant chill. The day had been long and tumultuous, emotionally bearing down on them all. Kyle’s shoulders were sagging, his pace noticeably more languid than usual-- whether it be from his morning’s expedition and obvious inner turmoil or the black haired male at his side was hard to say. 

They would return later that night with the scent of blood and burning flesh churning their stomachs and staining their clothes. The forest air of night had bitten their exposed flesh and sombered their bones-- the silent walk back spoke more than any idle conversation. 

Stan had puked twice, but regardless, Wendy and Kyle held back their words, simply hovering, allowing his wide blue eyes to blink away at watery rims and fight against the sickness that clawed at his throat. 

Cartman sniffed, nose running from the cold.   
They lacked the supplies needed to properly clean the crime scene, but knew fully well that any attempt to board windows or prevent entry would only attract unwanted attention. 

Eric knew that it wasn’t over. 

There was a voice inside of him, the fire, that was excited by the thought. 

Cartman pushed him away. 

That was a problem for another day. 

Heidi had watched them leave with apprehension. 

She was never very good at this particular aspect of their lives-- gruesome reality was difficult to stomach, always, no matter how many times history seemed to repeat itself. 

“Th-that’s fu-fucking sick.” Jimmy’s crutches signalled his departure, however, Heidi didn’t pay much mind to the direction of his destination. 

She supposed that they had seen worse. 

Ike’s eyes were narrowed as he brushed by her still standing frame, hands curled into fists, releasing a noise of frustration as he pressed his face against the living room window, angrily muttering something about his brother. 

Some nights still kept her awake. 

Crackling, red hot warmth burning brighter than anything she could have ever seen, flames towering above surrounding trees, screams. 

Heidi never escaped the screams. 

A light touch on her shoulder forced her to jolt, a sharp intake of breath escaping parted lips as Heidi visibly flinched. She turned, and her face must have betrayed her sudden bout of fear, because Bebe’s dejected hand shrunk away in surprise. 

Her hair was messed from laying down, but Bebe busied herself by attempting to style it with her fingers. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” There was a note of withheld caution in her apologetic words, as if she was unsure of speaking them aloud, as if she was questioning having approached Heidi to begin with. “I couldn’t fall asleep with Clyde, so I thought I’d just come back up here for now,” 

Heidi attempted not to let her friend’s averted gaze affect her. 

It didn’t work. 

“What happened to him?” 

Bebe’s nails snagged on a knot in her curls, her reply taking on a more impatient tone. “It was the testing. They always made him do such physical stuff, he hit his head bad one day and never fully recovered,” 

“It’s good that you remember.” 

The giggle that met Heidi’s ears was light and breathy, honey tinted with heartbreak and everything she never could have had in their youth. Bebe’s hair bounced with her movements; she whistled a tune the brunette couldn’t place-- round faced and dimpled, she was the person Heidi had always imagined her to be. 

And suddenly it was dizzying, because despite the eagerness to pursue conversation, to close the years of distance between them, Heidi could see danger glinting in deceptively clear blue eyes. Fear, lingering below sweet words and enthralling whispers, daring Heidi to reveal what she knew she shouldn’t. 

Bebe wasn’t there for her alone, she was there for everyone who hadn’t been left behind, motivated not by distrust itself but by the anxiety that was eating away at them all from the inside. 

Heidi knew of her arguably justified intentions. 

But some secrets were meant to remain buried, and some truths were better stored away with kindly lies and means of distraction. 

It was a much harder task to avoid than one could have hoped. 

They had ended up in one of the upper bedrooms, Bebe still giving small anecdotes from their youth, twirling strands of blonde between her fingers, smiling a smile that was so unfair-- how could she still manage to be so bright, so utterly dimming in comparison to Heidi’s perpetual state of worry? The contrast was stark, easily placed in between replies of flat toned aversion and knowing, comforting murmurs.

Bebe’s head was in her lap, gazing up with the kind of unfiltered openness that Heidi tended to shy away from. “Cartman, huh?” 

She wasn’t impressed, that much was obvious. Heidi sighed, “He’s not like how he was,” 

“He’s still Cartman.” Bebe’s jest wasn’t necessarily unkind, but it was spoken with a general sense of ‘I know this better than you do’, which was enough to make it hurt regardless. 

Growing defensive, Heidi shrugged away from the blonde’s grasp, fingers clinging to her arms. “You don’t know him, Bebe. He’s not a kid anymore,” 

“None of us are kids anymore, that doesn’t mean that he’s not an ass,” 

“Maybe he can be a bit emotionally unavailable, but we’re all just doing the best we can--” 

“You deserve better.” 

Pink lips were flattened to a hardened line, her persona of bubbly delight gone dry as Bebe leaned upwards, prying, daring for contradiction. 

Light headed, Heidi leaned away from the proximity. “Aren’t you and Clyde together?” 

Bebe pursed her lips. “It’s complicated-- we’re in a bit of an open relationship, I guess? It’s hard to explain, everyone has honestly kind of been involved with everyone at some point,” 

That was a headache of information to decipher, and Heidi wasn’t in the space of mind to begin to attempt to. Instead, she decided to halt whatever game of cornering and admission Bebe was playing, unsure of her tactic, afraid of her honesty. 

“What do you want to know?” 

It was a nicer, more personable way of asking ‘Why are we doing this? Why can’t you just tell me what you want, did you think that after all these years I wouldn’t know you well enough to see through you?’

Bebe’s expression softened at the question. “Do you trust me?” 

Heidi couldn’t meet her gaze. “Trust is a complicated thing,” 

“I know.” There was a touch along her back, light and lingering. “Heidi, everything is so strange. Everyone can feel it, but we’re all so scared of whatever this is falling apart. No one wants to say anything, but--” She bit her lip, “But we can’t keep going on like this. You guys aren’t the only ones with secrets,” 

Heidi didn’t want to take this direction. She had always been told she was weak willed, easily prone to fall down in the face of manipulation, easily swayed, too eager to please. 

She had truly believed herself to have grown stronger, but perhaps it was only her denial alone that had grown in the face of their adversity, because she found herself so willing to believe the sugary molasses of words tangling thickly around her heart, sedating her determination and leaving Heidi utterly defenseless. 

Encouraged by Heidi’s lack of an absolute refusal, Bebe continued, “We’re all in this together, you know? We need to be more open, and there’s no one I can trust to be honest with me more than you. Wendy is too caught up in whatever she and Kyle and the rest of you have planned, and anyone else would tell that I was asking,” 

Heidi couldn’t breathe.

“Please, Heidi. Give me anything, please just let me know that trusting all of you isn’t a mistake,” 

“The deal.” The words were choked, “It wasn’t just an agreement. Something caused it,” 

Heidi could see fire behind her eyes. 

There was power to selective wording, there was influence in implication. 

Heidi didn’t have to lie. She could please everyone, would manage to maintain peace and satisfy all parties involved-- the truth, in its entirety, didn’t have to be revealed. 

She sent out a silent apology. 

“It was a bit after things started to get really bad with everyone else on the other side of town. There wasn’t enough supplies, and people were getting aggressive,” 

Heidi’s sentences were tremulous, but Bebe continued to listen intently. 

“Tweek had found something in his shop that sent him over the edge, and Kevin McCormick kept saying that we had to do something about our problems. He took advantage of Tweek’s instability and they went into town together to meet with some of the adults,”

She swallowed, “When Tweek came back, he came back alone, and Kevin was dead,” 

Bebe’s hand covered her mouth, “The adults killed him?” 

Heidi nodded, wordless. 

Troubled, Bebe pressed further, “How did you get them to agree on a deal from this?” 

Heidi could sometimes still feel heat coursing along her skin, red hot and scorching, orange consuming everything she could see. 

She closed her eyes. 

“We were persuasive enough,” 

Guilt settled heavily in Heidi’s chest that night. 

The shame of both lies and truths, interwoven, pulling together a story of blanks and incompletion, allowing for a missing narrative to fill the head of a dear friend, allowing her own loose lips to consume her. 

Hazel eyes stared at the black, inky darkness of the early winter morning. 

It burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Things are getting interesting...
> 
> School has been cancelled for me for two weeks because of the virus, so I should have plenty of time to write in the mean time :) 
> 
> Friendly reminder to stay safe out there! 
> 
> Critiques and comments are always welcome <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cross that sat overlooking Stark’s Pond-- that was the destination. It was weary and made of cracked twigs tied together by shoelaces, kept idle by rocks and mud, kept company by dried flowers that his sister must have replaced before the storm. 
> 
> It was a sorry sight to behold. 
> 
> His brother deserved it.

He still couldn’t fully process it.

And it wasn’t as though Stan hadn’t seen his own horrors, he still carried plenty-- but God, somehow he at least managed to sleep despite them. 

He could see the light flickering through the trees, feel the scent of burning flesh lingering in his nose. Whenever Stan closed his eyes he saw dripping skin and blistering, gorey lifelessness. 

Their eyes kept him awake. 

It was sometime in the night, curtains pulled tightly closed, enveloping the room in a comforting null of all that was dark and quiet. 

Stan still maintained his blanket swaddled form on the floor despite Wendy and Kyle’s protests (and there had been many). It felt so strange, knowing that they were sharing a bed together, wondering how close they truly were. He knew it was childish, to feel so akin to an outsider, but it was so foreign to think of how time had affected not only his feelings for them, but their feelings for each other. 

He supposed that, if he thought back far enough, Stan had always believed he would eventually be presented with a decision. His childhood best friend, whom he could never replace, the listener of his woes and the counsellor of his stupidity, or his first love, the apple of his eye and the constant target of his affection. 

Stan had dreaded the day. He loved Kyle, would never not love him, just as he did Wendy-- it was a strange combination of both friendship and a confusing amount of inner turmoil. He had always been comfortable by Kyle’s side, simply couldn’t have fathomed life without him, and yet Wendy’s presence was grounding, even during their disputes and days of on again off again; and God, Stan had always dreaded the day. 

They had loathed each other when Stan was taken from them. 

Kyle, despite his constant comforts after every break up, insisted upon Wendy’s negative attributes. Wendy had complained of Kyle’s bad influence and poor decision making, promising that without him, Stan could be so much more. 

But he was already more with them, more than he ever was by himself. 

In the aftermath of losing them both it was a wonder how Stan made it this far. He had lacked motivation, emotion, having lost the parts of himself he treasured the most. 

Stan didn’t know how he managed to get as far as he did. 

But he knew that somehow, some way, Kyle and Wendy had grown so, so close in his absence-- due almost entirely to their former separate relations to Stan alone. 

And wasn’t it just so funny, and so bizarre, to watch in hazed blackness whenever there was movement under the blankets, to see them sharing side long glances and looks, to see them sharing secrets and signals and all of these things that Stan wished he could have had with them both. 

And wasn’t it just so funny, and so bizarre, that Stan wasn’t angry, or hurt, but simply yearning, because it was hard to face the reality that life still just wasn’t fair.

There was a silhouette towering above him, nearly gone unnoticed, nearly unseeable, before they lowered themselves to the ground. 

Stan studied the pale face and wild strands of ginger hair, tracing the grim, serious line of Kyle’s lips to the concerned furrow of his brow. “I can’t sleep either,” 

“I guess it’s hard to.” Stan swallowed, rolling over so as to invoke a silent invitation. “I think that maybe you were right,” 

“About…?” He could feel Kyle’s warmth, hovering, teasing his skin, just barely out of reach. 

“I don’t know if I can handle this.” Stan despised the way his voice slowly began to break, refused to turn to face his closest friend, “I’ve seen a lot of things, I have, but I just--” 

“I never said you couldn’t handle it.” Kyle’s murmur was strained, “I just never wanted you to have to,” 

Kyle was closer, now. Stan heard the shifting of blankets as Kyle brought them up to properly cover himself from the chill, “You were the one I looked up to the most when we were kids. You were so cool, the strongest person I knew,”

“Kyle--”

“You’ve never given yourself enough credit.” Kyle’s whisper was low, pointed, “I’ve never understood it,” 

“You always said that’s why I kept getting back with Wendy,” Stan smiled despite the tightening of his throat, “Said that I was too willing to forgive,” 

Kyle snorted, “I bet you’re still too willing to forgive,” 

There was a brief, fluttering silence. 

“Stan,” 

It was the way Kyle spoke his name that forced Stan to turn, to meet those piercing green eyes looking so intently at him.

Stan was on the brink of both tears and laughter, emotional disarray, but hoped this wasn’t conveyed in the darkness. 

“Are you upset with Wendy and I?” 

It was a complicated question, but they had all known it was coming. 

“I know that it’s weird.” Kyle lowered his gaze, “It was never-- at first it was just because we missed you, I think. We would talk about you for hours,” 

“I’m not upset,” Stan wasn’t confident he maintained the right to be. They had spent the better part of their youths together without him, it was a natural development, it was okay, they were happy together and even if it was lonely, it was okay. 

“I hated Wendy because I was jealous of her.” Kyle ruffled his hair with slender fingers, “I didn’t know what to do with how I felt about you,” 

Stan has known that. Of course he had known that-- they had never spoken anything aloud, nor had either of them expressed these feelings explicitly, but they had certainly shared moments of small, shy elementary kisses in between his breaks with Wendy, had certainly professed how much they both meant to the other. 

And so, when Stan had been left to ponder back on their relationship in the years following, it became clear that some lines had been blurred in between the phases of what was to be considered platonic. 

“Dude, I was always hella confused about you too.” He could feel heat creeping up his neck, “I mean-- I’m happy for you guys, you know? Our lives have been a shitshow, and you deserve something good,” 

There was a disconnect in the flow of conversation as Kyle seemed to deliberate something, before he replied with the kind of determination that was so frustratingly like him, considerate, knowing Stan too well even after five years had come and gone. 

“If there’s anyone who deserves something good it’s you,”

It was difficult to breathe. 

Stan didn’t want to admit it, but it stung. 

He opened his mouth.

There were so many things he wanted to say. They were the only good Stan has ever had, how was he to find good without them? He didn’t want to be selfish but it was so strangely difficult to imagine them together without him, he cared for their happiness the most but God, he had missed them both so much, had dreamt of embracing both of their frames, had tasted both of their lips in his sleep for countless nights. 

“What if you’re both still my something good?” 

It came out before Stan could have thought better of it, more unstable than he would have liked, and if Kyle didn’t know of his wet eyes before then he certainly did now. 

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Stan,” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” Stan covered his face, “It’s just-- with both of you, I think I still-- uh, have some feelings--”

“Hey, listen to me,” 

“And I won’t interfere or anything, I swear--”

“Look at me.” Kyle placed firm hands along his shoulders, pushing Stan onto his back as wide green eyes came face to face with him, close, so close, warm breath tickling his skin. 

Kyle’s strained words were hushed, “Things are weird right now. But Wendy and I have been talking about this, and we both agreed that we’ll-- we’ll just see how things go,” 

“What?” 

Stan couldn’t see it, but he imagined that Kyle’s face would be reddened if the flustered state of his words were anything to go by. “I’m saying that if you wanted, we could all just-- just kind of figure things out,” 

“Please explain,”

Kyle’s murmurs grew in their intensity, “Dammit Stan, I loved you before I knew what love was and that hasn’t changed.” He retracted his grip from Stan’s shoulders, hesitant, “It hasn’t changed, so--so if you wanted...” 

Stan leaned up on his elbows, breathing in a shaky lungful of air. Kyle sat rigid, having not moved away from the proximity, exhaling slowly-- if the room had been any lighter Stan would have been able to count the freckles that spanned along the ginger’s cheeks. 

Stan felt Kyle’s hands loop around his neck, hesitant, his breath hitching lightly as the distance between them was diminished. 

Kyle’s lips were soft and eager, moving against Stan’s almost desperately, as if it would help to soothe the ache fluttering painfully between them. When he pulled back he mouthed Stan’s name against the outline of his neck, warm and breathless, and Stan pulled him closer still, kissing him with all the longing, all of the intimacy he had spent years daydreaming of. 

Kyle’s hands were in his hair and down his back, Stan’s grasp wandering to his waist and settling there, whispering comforts into untameable auburn locks until they ended up with limbs intertwined and lips numb. 

Stan had believed that him waking up to see Kyle would forever be the single best day of his life. 

But feeling the steady, weighted heat fidgeting against his chest and the gentle thrumming of adrenaline pulsing through his veins was enough to convince him otherwise. 

They were still his something good.

Kenny had finally summoned the strength he needed to visit Kevin’s burial site. 

It had been a week since the incident with Butters’ parents, and the white blanket that froze the town was beginning to settle into nothing more than cold, wet mush that squished under the weight of Kenny’s boots. 

Karen had told him of it’s location, explaining that they couldn’t put him back at home because their former house was too close to where the adults lingered. And though Kenny wouldn’t have dared to say it aloud, Kevin had always hated their house, and he thought it best to have put his brother away from the target of his angry musings for so many years. 

A cross that sat overlooking Stark’s Pond-- that was the destination. It was weary and made of cracked twigs tied together by shoelaces, kept idle by rocks and mud, kept company by dried flowers that his sister must have replaced before the storm. 

It was a sorry sight to behold. 

His brother deserved it. 

Kenny lowered himself, sighing. “I know for a damn fact that you ended up in hell, but Damien never told me you died. I bet you asked him not to, huh?” 

The pond was still iced over, and Kenny’s eyes strayed to the way it glinted under the sun. “That was shitty of you. Then again, you take priority over me down below-- some shit about ‘permanent residency’, as Damien so kindly phrases it, so I’m not surprised,” 

Kenny could hear the faint melody of singing birds and hummed. “You know Kev, you and I never really hit it off much. I used to say that I didn’t know what your problem was, but I think I did,” 

His nails dug into his palm and Kenny relished the sting. “I swear, you were born angry. Did you ever think about how Karen and I needed you? I know that we didn’t have much, and our parents were lazy and drunk-- but God, it wouldn’t have killed you to not be such a prick,” 

The wind ruffled his hair, and Kenny made the effort to bury himself further into his coat. “You treated Karen like shit. You never spent time with her-- with either of us.” 

His eyes drifted to the flowers. 

Dainty petals stuck to what remained of the snow, brown and weak. 

“You don’t deserve those.” 

Kenny could feel himself trembling. 

“You don’t deserve this.” Kenny spat along the cross’s rickety wood.

“You don’t know how damn lucky you are.” Gritting his teeth, Kenny stood. “Do you know what it’s like to never get to die, Kevin? I’ll tell you what it’s like. It’s getting hit by cars and trains, it’s drowning, it’s getting stabbed and burned alive, and no one ever fucking remembers a single goddamn time,” 

His chest was pained. “It’s getting experimented on like-- like an animal. It was the best day of their shitty lives when they realized I couldn’t stay dead. They could do whatever they wanted with me, see how much the human body could endure-- it didn’t matter, I couldn’t fucking die,” 

Kenny laughed against the burning wetness of the tears that threatened to fall. “But you know what? Even though we were all in it together, no one else realized that I died every single day,” 

He was yelling, now. “So I guess it just kinda fucking sucks that you get to abandon everything, just like you always did, and leave everyone else here, and leave Karen all by herself, and leave me to be jealous of you because you get to stay dead when that’s all I’ve ever wanted!” 

Against his better judgement, Kenny kicked the cross. “So fuck you, Kevin. That’s exactly why I never knew you died, isn’t it?” 

The twigs snapped under the weight of Kenny’s feet. 

Breathless, he stopped. A heavy feeling flooded his chest, and with guilt in his lungs and the taste of cold fury on his tongue, Kenny turned to retreat. 

His voice was hoarse against his ears. “You’ve only ever looked out for yourself. The next time I die, you better man up and come see me before I have to find you myself,”

As he trekked back, Kenny found his muscles aching with the phantom pains of deaths past, his nerve endings alight with the ghosts of trauma his soul still carried. 

All his life, Kenny had been the only one to remember-- and to think it was still true, even when it shouldn’t be.

It was the same technology their kidnappers used to wipe memories of their initial abduction that had claimed their more recent recollections. Kenny, much like everyone else, was put to sleep with tranquilizers and properly restrained before being stuffed into the box that would soon arrive back into the town that haunted his sleep. 

Kenny, unlike everyone else, suffered from a heart attack during the night’s transports, meaning that his physical body was replaced before the journey’s end. 

It was the reason Kenny never carried any scars from his past deaths, much less measly childhood wounds-- upon each death, his body was reconstructed, practically born anew. His body was just a carrying vessel for the soul within, the soul that carried the weight of the curse bestowed upon him at the fault of his parents. 

And so, the body that had it’s memory blocked was rebuilt, taking away the small bruises he had maintained, relieving him of the physical constraints of forced amnesia. 

Kenny, unlike everyone else, knew what had happened. He understood their situation more so than anyone--he was the key that they were waiting for. 

But Kenny knew, unlike everyone else, that there was nothing to be done. This was bigger than them, they were just damaged kids that God had abandoned, and really, it was better to just enjoy being together again. Why should he risk igniting their hopes, allowing himself to be the catalyst to a plan that would surely end with them dying? 

The people he cared about most only had a single fighting chance at life. 

Kenny couldn’t risk them wasting it over dreams of better days. 

There was nothing he could do.

He approached the steps of Token’s mansion, greeted by Craig shoving Clyde’s face roughly into snow topped bushes, watched Karen giggling happily as Tricia balled up white powder and prepared to launch it at her brother.

Maybe Kenny was lying to himself.

A cold, wet mass struck his chest, and Kenny dramatically sunk to his knees. “Karebear, this is the end of the line for me,” 

“You are the actual lamest,” His sister smiled at him, all bright eyed, so much older than she used to be. 

There was something he could do. 

But when faced with moments like these, Kenny knew he’d never take the risk. 

It was relieving to watch the snow thaw gently into the ground. Their supplies were on the very brink of nothing, and another shipment was due soon-- one that would carry resources Craig would prefer not to transport in knee deep cold. 

The air outside was chilly, the kind of faint lack of warmth that lapped at your skin even under the weighted fabrics of your coat. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, maybe bordering a bit on dry-- but frankly, anything was to be preferred over remaining trapped inside for another unspecified period of time. Craig was constantly confronted with an insulting lack of privacy not only from people he was unsure of, but also his own impatience with being unable to find rooms unoccupied when he craved to be alone.

He needed this escape more than he was willing to admit. Clyde had badgered him about wandering off alone, saying that he’d probably get chastised, but truthfully, Craig couldn’t find the energy to really deliberate it. Everyone was carrying secrets they were unwilling to share, and even if he could understand the caution, Craig getting himself killed was his own responsibility. 

Besides, if Token and the others really didn’t want anyone going off by themselves, it shouldn’t have been so easy to leave. 

Craig was one of the few who didn’t mind the tension. He couldn’t ask for Token to explain all of the unspoken rules and dangers, couldn’t confront him about not being more honest regarding the dangers of the deal in the aftermath of Leo’s dead parents-- because he had yet to be completely honest with any one of them, either. 

He didn’t like to think about it. What had happened, what he couldn’t remember happening. 

They were in deep shit. 

He wasn’t positive that laying out everything in all honesty would do anything to change that. 

It wasn’t until Craig was just bordering on the edge of the parts of town he’d been advised to avoid when a brief glimpse of movement caught his eye. Halting his languid pace, he stared, narrowing his eyes out into the expanse of deserted, multicolored identical houses to scan the surrounding area. 

They were quick and sure in their steps, never stopping for too long, ever so often shifting their eyes around so as to be alerted of any other presences lurking. 

Tweek didn’t bother to check the tree line, though. 

It wasn’t something that should have come as a surprise. It had been mentioned in passing that Tweek was one of few who normally went off by themselves and weren’t necessarily discouraged to do so-- and with the dents in his bat, Craig didn’t have to exactly ponder why. 

He didn’t think Tweek was dangerous, but he was absolutely certain that the blonde had adapted to match the cruelty of their circumstances with his own edge. Craig had thought upon this theory-- Tweek’s bat was his first indication that they weren’t being properly informed about just how bad things had gotten. 

When Wendy had finally caved and reluctantly told everyone that the agreement was basically and eye for an eye and not limited to murder, it confirmed his suspicions. It was only natural that she and Kyle attempted to keep everyone together, to prevent Craig or Clyde or anyone who wasn’t completely aware of it all from diving headfirst into untimely death. 

But there was something Craig still couldn’t wrap his head around.

So far, the agreement, the limitations on where they could go-- none of that was their fault. Why hide useful information, especially when they’re not the ones in wrongdoing? Wendy had painted a picture of utter victimization from the town’s other residents from the very beginning. Why bother to conceal it? What was he missing, what were they holding out on?

Why wait to tell them unless there was something bigger they weren’t ready to share?

Craig didn’t like to think about it, but sometimes he found himself thinking anyway.

He blinked. 

There were wide eyes gazing in his direction, narrowing into a flustered, frustrated glare as Tweek redirected himself to the trees where Craig stupidly stood, unsure of whether or not he should pretend to have not been observing as openly as he had. 

“What are you doing here?” Tweek hissed, nervous and contempt. 

Craig probably should have felt guiltier than he did. “I wanted to go for a walk,” 

“Not here!” Tweek lightly pushed his friend’s gangly frame back, as if shooing him away. “You shouldn’t be out here at all, especially not by yourself-- Jesus man, you’re going to get yourself killed,” 

“What about you?” 

Tweek stared. 

“What are you doing here?” Craig fought against the urge to grin at the look of utter exasperation that crossed the twitchy male’s features. 

“That’s not important.” Huffing, Tweek persisted with his shoving, though it had more force behind it now, “You need to go,” 

Craig raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to walk me back?” 

“I have stuff to do--” 

Craig expressed his worries flatly, “It’s dangerous. I could die,” 

Tweek groaned, but Craig didn’t miss the faint gleam of anxiety that contorted his face. In the brief silence of the shorter forming a response, Craig spoke again, “You didn’t answer my question,” 

“I don’t have to explain anything to rule breakers.” 

“You’re breaking the rule too,” 

Tweek’s face reddened, “I’m an exception,” 

“Why’s that?” 

Tweek snorted, a bit cross, “God, Craig, do I re-really have to remind you?” 

In response, Craig lazily reached to scratch his head, “Yep.” 

Craig considered himself to be a decently sturdy individual. He was tall, relatively steady in his posture, and, most importantly, he had always assumed that he could at least decently defend himself. 

It was entirely possible that those things were all still correct. 

Maybe Tweek was just a walking exception in many different fields. 

The smaller launched himself upwards, extending his grasp to reach around Craig’s neck as he pushed his knee into the pit of Craig’s stomach, forcing them both clumsily onto the ground. 

Craig wheezed. 

That made for the second time Tweek had managed to topple him over, now. 

Craig had the sneaking suspicion that his companion’s danger came not from an overflowing of skill, but rather, a sheer lack of hesitation to act, to harm. 

He didn’t know what to make of that.

Tweek smirked, “Are you reminded?” 

“I could have stopped you if I wanted to.” Coughing, Craig pushed himself up onto his elbows.

It was the thought that counted. 

“Then you should have.” Tweek brushed off his knees, offering a hand to assist Craig in regaining his balance behind airy, poorly contained giggles. 

It was only after they were both properly standing once more that Tweek turned to go in the direction of the mansion. Upon noticing that his dark haired companion remained unmoving, he sighed. 

“Take me where you were going,” 

“No, Craig,” 

“Why not?” His eyes trailed over the neighborhoods of his youth, worn down and abandoned. 

Tweek shuffled his feet, “It’s just not a good idea, okay? Let’s go back, someone’s going to notice that you’re gone soon,” 

“If you’re with me then they’ll never know I was alone,”

“I’m not being your cover, jerk.” Tweek turned on his heels, and this time Craig followed reluctantly behind. 

“Will you go back by yourself?” 

Tweek’s released a breath of irritation, “I don’t know why you care so much,” 

Craig furrowed his brows. “Why wouldn’t I care?” 

His hasty pace gradually slowed, and Tweek’s worried ramblings grew quiet. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just--it’s weird. It’s just weird, now.” There was a sharp intake of breath as he continued, “I don’t want you to be disappointed about the person I’ve become since you left,” 

Something heavy churned within Craig’s stomach as he replied, “I’m not the same either,” 

“I know that, but it’s still scary.” Tweek’s murmur trailed off, leaving him to simply look with the same face he’s always had, except there are scars where there weren’t before, there’s sharpness where there used to be youth. 

Craig swallowed. “You could never disappoint me,” 

“Don’t count on that.” Tweek’s laugh was curt, pained. 

They both had their issues, Craig knew, but to see Tweek so full of self blame hurt. 

He didn’t deserve it. 

“Don’t say that.” He reached out to tug on Tweek’s sleeve, tentative, pausing to scan the other for any sign of recognition. 

A smile flickered across his face as Tweek intertwined their fingers, using the sacred hand holding initiation tactic they had used as children-- the tug was the question, the eventual joining of grasps was always the answer. 

Tweek squeezed his palm, “I’ll take you with me one day, I promise. Just-- not right now,” 

Craig nodded, throat dry. “Okay,” 

Unconvinced, Tweek pressed, “You don’t need to worry,”

He would anyway. “I know,”

The walk back was quiet, but strangely enough, Craig’s unwanted thoughts were quieter still. 

Tweek had claimed that he wouldn’t offer any excuses for Craig’s absence. 

He had lied. 

It wasn’t until a later conversation shared with his sister that Craig came to learn of the blonde’s whereabouts. 

“He visits his mom every so often, but I think the real reason he goes to town is Tweek Bros,” Tricia’s gaze was searching, as if examining Craig for something he wasn’t aware of. 

“Why?” 

“He keeps a lot of things there— stuff that used to be yours. He’s probably embarrassed by it,” She played with the falling strands of her hair, “He’s scared,” 

Craig frowned. “Scared,” He repeated the phrase with a sense of mild inquiry, knowing fully well that his sister wouldn’t indulge him as to why. 

Tricia sighed, “You’ll find out eventually, Craig. Don’t push it,” 

There was a more logical part of Craig, the part of himself he preferred to listen to, that knew his sister was right. 

But something inside of him churned uneasily. 

When they were children, it seemed as though he and Tweek had always comforted one another, kept each other safe from their fears. Things were more complicated now, but the desire to fulfill that need still lay heavy upon Craig’s shoulders. 

How could he keep Tweek safe if he didn’t bother to let him in again? 

More importantly—

What was it that he was really hiding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Life has been so weird lately? But I’m back with another chapter ^^ hope everyone is staying safe and staying home! (Unless you have to go out or are having to work). A big thank you to anyone still working right now, you guys are appreciated!
> 
> Comments, critiques or questions are always welcome! I love hearing from people and receiving feedback. See you soon <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Nichole, foolishly, naively, had hoped upon her initial awakening of being returned that perhaps they could somehow recreate it. Give it the same feeling, the same memories she had but didn’t, really, and maybe it would all fall into place. They had been through it all, didn’t they deserve at least that much?
> 
> It was what she yearned for, more than anything. 
> 
> But it wasn’t hers to have. 
> 
> It wasn’t anyone’s.

Jimmy sometimes wondered why his captors ever put so much effort into what they did. 

They were placed into cells fit for housing two people, rotating roommates every few weeks, always under constant surveillance. Several of those with whom he shared company with often complained about the uselessness of the shuffling, of the persistence of change. 

Jimmy never found the heart to tell them it was all likely a part of their experimentation. 

They examined every possible aspect of not only physical reactions, but emotional ones as well. Diving under the skin of every individual flaw, dividing relationships and testing bonds through sick and twisted games, leaving their insides hollowed and dry. 

Ike being forced to choose between Stan’s life or Shelly’s. 

Bebe being forced to choose between Clyde and Nichole-- the only difference being that Clyde managed to survive his injuries. 

Jimmy sometimes wondered if they ever even knew who was behind it to begin with. They lived in monochromatic anxiety, never quite safe from the tests and days to come. 

They used him as a means to find cures. Cures for his legs, or his eyes, or his stutter-- shocks, beatings, injections, static, dizzying white noise. 

Nothing ever worked. 

And the worst part of it all was that he knew, deep down, that it didn’t matter if his testing proved to find any sort of solution.

There was no gratification in suffering. 

Jimmy was one of the few who managed to keep themselves at least partially independent. This meaning that in their adversities, in their switchings and ever changing relationships with those around them, there was always some sort of shifting in bonds and dynamics. They were desperate for escape, desperate to find anything to make it all just that much easier. 

Jimmy was unsure of how many close friendships had changed into something more, or of whether or not these feelings just were spurred on by the looming fear of death on their shoulders, but he did know that for many, it was all still somewhat complicated. 

His friends were more than enough for him. 

Though, he was a bit concerned about what to do in the aftermath of these affairs-- none of them had ever anticipated being given the opportunity to have at least some form of their old lives back; and it was interesting (though worrying) to watch his closest friends sort through their conflicted feelings and wants.

If Cartman’s complaining was anything to go by, however, there had been no such wavering in relationship status among those who had stayed. As far as Jimmy could grasp, Wendy and Kyle had slowly inched their ways into becoming something romantic, though they had yet to explicitly reveal when. Heidi gave Eric a second chance just two years prior, for circumstances that currently weren’t quite clear to Jimmy himself. 

“Look at her,” Cartman scoffed at the open display of Bebe fixing Heidi’s loose strands of hair with her hands, “She’s obviously trying to seduce my girlfriend,” 

She probably was-- but Jimmy wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that. “J-je-jealous, are we?” He offered a wry grin, a gesture his company didn’t seem to appreciate. 

“She already has Clyde.” Eric’s stare was venomous and gloomy, “I don’t care if she’s some closet case or whatever, Bebe shouldn’t be trying to be a fucking homewrecker,”

Kenny, who was seated at Cartman’s side at the other side of the table, offered a lazy reply. “You and Heidi aren’t married,” 

“That’s not the point!” Cartman sniffed, “The point is that Bebe should keep it in her pants,” 

“Keep what in her p-puh-pants?” 

Eric scowled at him. 

Kenny jimed in, “Bebe doesn’t have a dick to keep in her pants,” 

Cartman rubbed his temples, “I’d bet you’d fucking know, wouldn’t you Kenny,” 

“I mean, yeah, I kind of would--” 

“I hate you both.” Cartman excused himself from their conversation, something Jimmy was grateful for, before making his way towards the back door through the kitchen where they sat. 

Kenny offered a languid shrug, not bothering to push in his chair before lazily departing, his destination in mind seeming to be hovering about at his sister’s side. 

Jimmy watched him leave, finding relief in being able to drop his dopey grin. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy cracking jokes with old friends, but all of the emotional tension was proving to wear him down, if only enough to harden his state of perpetual exhaustion. 

Not that he’d ever let anyone else know that. 

Behind him, the back door creaked, signalling someone’s arrival. 

Jimmy opened his mouth to offer a tease at Eric’s expense, assuming his tantrum was concluded, until a more welcome frame came into view. 

Token’s grins were always more subdued in comparison to his companions, a notion that hadn’t changed since they were children. He was lively in a quiet way, thoughtful; someone who still managed to be genuine despite their privileged upbringing and well rounded family. 

All things considered, Token had adjusted surprisingly well. But Jimmy supposed that it really shouldn’t have come as such a shock-- he earned notoriety for being so adaptable. Seeing him now, with permanent stress lines and sunken eyes but still offering a small smile reminded Jimmy of why he had respected him so much.

“Long t-time no talk,” Jimmy’s crutches jostled from their place under the table as Token took a seat to his left. 

Brown eyes wandered to the metal as Token nodded, “I’ve been wondering about those.” perplexed, he traced the crutches with his stare, “The crutches, I mean,”

“You and m-me both.” Jimmy was uncomfortable, because he too had spent far too many hours questioning the logic. 

Jimmy was made persistently easier to transport by having such a difficulty with his mobility. He had no way of fighting back, no way of trying to rebel as some of his companions did. Without his crutches, his experimenters ran trials to gather results on the outcomes of their testing. 

Seeing as he still needed them, however, negative results seemed to be conclusive. 

He had been made to go without. But now, when he was thrown back into the midst of his childhood, he was suddenly gifted with former aid, adjusted to fit his growth. 

It didn’t make sense. 

It worried him. 

“S-so,” Jimmy balanced his head along his hands, “Did you have fu-f...fun with these assholes while we were g-gone?” 

The shift in conversation was surely noticed by both parties present, but neither seemed willing to disrupt the amicable atmosphere by returning to the subject matter Jimmy had clearly avoided. 

Token snorted, “It hasn’t been all bad. I still had Tweek, and I got to know kids I never usually hung around.” He scratched his neck, “Doesn’t mean it’s been easy, though,”

They were interrupted by the sound of a loud and unfortunately familiar series of yells coming from the backyard, words most likely taunts if the tone was any indicator of pleasantry. 

Token sighed, “Some people never change,” 

The backdoor was practically thrown off its hinges as more welcome faces entered. 

Craig Tucker was sour faced and scowling, pulling on the neck of Clyde’s shirt to tug him into the house while offering his middle finger at whoever had managed to offend his company. Clyde was still retorting mild obscenities, pushed further into the safety of the kitchen by a mop of blonde hair and uneasily shifting eyes. 

“I could take your ass in a fight anyday, Cartman--” Clyde’s fury was halted upon seeing the company watching his actions with mild amusement and exasperation respectively. 

Clyde beamed, “You guys! It’s the five of us, finally,” the collar of his shirt was released, allowing for him to happily place himself at Token’s side. “I have no idea how you guys put up with that fatass being such a dick,” 

“You learn not to speak his language.” Token smiled knowingly. 

“Ngh-- I told you to walk away,” Tweek paced around the table with Craig in tow, settling next to Jimmy with a bashful wave.

“Someone has to put him in his place, Tweekers,” Clyde sniffed. 

Tweek shook his head, dubious, “He’d suffocate you, Clyde,” 

Craig snorted, attempting to hide away from Clyde’s look of betrayal as the latter pointed an accusatory finger, “You said you’d support me!” 

“I said I wouldn’t let you get your ass beat, that doesn’t mean I condone your decisions,” 

Clyde huffed, “Who are you, my mom?” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake Clyde--”

“Do you really think you can replace my mom, Craig?”

“You can’t just say that every time I tell you you’re being stupid,” 

And then Token was laughing. 

It was the first sign of obvious, unrestrained enjoyment that Jimmy had seen out of the male since his arrival weeks ago. 

Jimmy imagined that it had been a long time since he had allowed himself to laugh that way. 

“I missed being with you guys like this.” Token’s cheeks revealed his dimples as he happily continued, “We should set up in my room again tonight like old times,” 

It wasn’t long after Token’s invitation that Clyde began tearing up, if only just a bit, reminding Jimmy of older days.

“I don’t care what you say, Craig! Token is my new best friend,” 

Craig’s reply was apathetic, “Thank God,” 

Jimmy began to feel lost in the noise. 

It was strange to feel any sort of joy without lingering fear. 

He hoped that this time it would last. 

Jimmy could somehow find his way through whatever life wanted to torture him with, so long as they could just stay five. 

How nice it was to wish. 

Throughout his life Kevin Stoley felt as though he faded into the background. 

Almost as if, even in the midst of all the chaos, he still somehow was never at the forefront-- he was dulled by the eccentrics, by the bright characters who were so much more interesting than him. He missed Star Wars and his family, and he had bore witness to the same atrocities, and yet--

Kevin still never felt fully present to any of them. 

Maybe that was why he took it upon himself to know the things he did— he craved that control, that sense of power.

Tweek was a novice at getting around town unseen, but if there was anyone who could track the conflicts within their walls, it was Kevin. 

There was no one who could fully appreciate his gift-- after all, the only person who knew couldn’t seem to withhold her blatant disapproval. 

Red sighed, rubbing her temples from her place along one of Token’s guest beds. “Are you seriously never going to get tired of this shit?”

“It’s good to know things, Red,” Kevin examined himself briefly in front of the wall’s vanity mirror, pausing to tidy his hair with his fingers. “It’ll come in handy. You know how to interact better if you understand people-- this is how I do that,” 

“You’re such a creep.” She chucked a pillow at his head, the impact causing Kevin to smack his forehead along the mirror. “Eavesdropping is for kids and jealous lovers,” 

“I never had the chance to be either, really, so this is me living that fantasy.” Kevin’s grin was unappreciated at best, but he disregarded his girlfriend’s stare and swiftly exited the room. 

It wasn’t just the sense of knowing that continued to spur him on. It was the darkness of the halls, the peace lingering under his skin at the understanding that this strange task was his and his alone, the notion that he held some sort of knowledge regarding his companions’ feelings and thoughts-- but they would never know. He was the walls, the air, the stillness of sleep; and he was listening right under their noses. 

Kevin couldn’t say why he did it. 

But he knew that he wasn’t going to stop now.

His first stop was the easiest-- Eric Cartman was never known for containing a quiet state of being. Kevin had figured that he would still be up, most likely pestering Heidi with his growing jealousy regarding her and a certain curly haired blonde. 

Eric was also notorious for not being particularly fond of roommates, unless you were specifically invited to reside in his designated space. It sounded as though there were only two others present, Leo and Kenny, but with Cartman’s record, Kevin assumed they would be leaving soon. 

“I just don’t understand what her deal is,” Kevin could practically visualize the contempt filled pout on his face. 

Heidi’s reply forced him to strain, “She’s one of my closest friends, Eric. Can we please sleep now?” 

“I reckon Bebe’s just missed Heidi, that’s all! Maybe you three could spend some quality time together,” Leo’s attempt at his usual chipper nature was nearly there, but not quite-- his words were still so feeble in comparison to his typical bubbly demeanor. 

Kevin pitied him, but knew that Butters wouldn’t want anything to do with his pity. 

Kenny had always surprised Kevin, what with the patience he maintained when dealing with such a stubborn personality. He could picture him brushing long bangs out his face, irritated, “It’s late and I promised Karen I’d camp with her in the living room, can we go? You’re being overly possessive,” 

Perhaps Kenny’s point was true-- but Kevin was one of few who wondered if the tension would eventually culminate into something more.

Still, he was hesitant to stick around for too long. Avoiding the main living room he crept by one of the corridors, one that housed unused washing machines before settling himself around the nook of an ajar maroon door. 

It was familiar enough-- Kevin usually hung around for the sheer curiosity of the situation alone. Though, Wendy was sensitive to light and always had the curtains drawn, resulting in a confusing mass of darkness and heaps of indistinguishable figures. 

There seemed to be more present than usual, most likely a result of Token’s claiming of the basement for old times sake, politely asking to have it be a bit more private, a bit more inclined towards reliving his childhood. Kevin had never managed to amass a steady group of friends in his youth, so he supposed he wouldn’t know the feeling. 

Still, there was nothing to miss if nothing was lost. 

They had been through a lot together. Children forced not only to fend for themselves, but to accept the reality placed in front of them, of entrapment, of remaining in place until death, surrounded by a giant wall and suffocated by the thorns of flowery regret. 

They had only managed to make it as far as they had due to the peaking of tension, a twitchy catalyst of addiction and the bitter taste of failed manipulation-- their circumstances had peaked, leading to the death of Karen’s eldest brother, allowing for the realization that, without action, they would all be next. 

Kevin would never say it aloud, for it was a rather sensitive subject. 

But he, for one, couldn’t blame the eldest McCormick for what he had attempted to do. 

They were running low on resources. The adults held the majority over them, they were ransacking, taking everything, maddened, crazed and unhinged-- but everyday Kevin witnessed someone so like them, just as out of place, coming apart at the seams of paranoia and withdrawal. 

Kevin would never say it aloud. 

But if the thought had occurred to him first, then he too would have sought out the weakest for exploitation. 

There were footsteps. Coming closer, nearing his spot. Kevin withdrew himself, backing away into the stairwell that led to the recluses of the basement, where rambunctious laughter and yells could still be heard despite the ungodly hour of night. 

“I worry for him, Ken, I really do.” Leo sniffed, his gaze directed towards his companion, “D’ya think he and Heidi will stop arguing soon?” 

Kenny’s lips were pressed into a frown, “I dunno, Buttercup, I think Beb’s has her heart set on Heidi-- not much we can do there. But,” he paused, tugging Butters’ back gently and spinning him around, smiling lazily to match Leo’s airy giggles. “What we can do is have some fun,” 

Leo grinned, sheepish, “You know we can’t go nowhere, Kenny-- Wendy’ll get real mad at me, and…” his expression fell, collapsing into a blank, deserted stare. “And-- and after what I did, I--I don’t know if I should--”

“Hey, hey, no, Leo…” Kenny murmured lowly, tracing the edge of Leo’s pale scar with his thumb, tentative, bordering on uncertain. “It’s okay, you’re-- you’re okay,” 

“Am I bad, Ken?” 

“No, you’re good, Butterfly. So good,” Lithe fingers entangled themselves through sandy, tousled strands. Leo softened a bit, bringing his head closer to the touch. “The best,” 

There was a small, disconnected snort. “The best, huh?” Butters chuckled, weak and watery.“If you say so, Kenny,” 

Kenny smiled, gazing upon his company with the kind of bittersweet unspoken fondness that made Kevin want to leave as quickly as possible. “I know so.” Kind words were tainted with the briefest tinge of sadness, but Kenny wore his emotions without hesitation, smiling crookedly. 

Leo stepped forward, circling his grip around Kenny and palming at the nape of his neck. “I really did miss you bunches, you know?” 

Kenny’s grip was confident and eager, settling happily along Leo’s thinner waist. Dopey and affectionate, he grinned, “I’m always missing you, Buttercup,” 

And he was leaning forward, and they were close, so close, just inches away from crossing into territory unrecovered--

Until Butters mistakenly stepped back, missing the hardness of the wall narrowly and instead being met with open air, leaning backwards and losing his balance, yelping from the surprise, and tumbling halfway down the stairs—the atmosphere of the moment and Kevin’s hiding left to crumble as the blonde’s limbs met his in a twisted game of painful stretches and joints that shouldn’t bend. 

And there was shouting, from the impact, from Kenny’s footfalls descending the wood and the sound of approaching voices from downstairs, until Butters scrambled back to his longtime friend, dazed, and the bright, painful shining of a flash light thrust itself upon Kevin’s eyes.

Token stared at the scene before him with mild confusion, accompanied by none other than Craig The Scowling Giant himself peering over his shoulder, watchful; curious. 

Kenny tsked, unimpressed. To any outside eye, he seemed to be rather unaffected-- unbothered, even. 

But Kevin could see the way he tightened his grip along Leo’s shoulders, as if releasing his grip would send the younger pummeling down the stairs once more. 

Kenny whistled, “Didn’t know you were a peeping tom, Stoley.” He thought for a moment, eyes widening, frowning at the realization that the living room where his sister presided was just around the corner. “You better not have been creeping on Karen,” 

Behind Token’s bewildered self, Craig narrowed his eyes at the implications-- Tricia and Karen were always together, so the conclusion he seemed to have made was enough to make Kevin break out into cold sweats. 

Lightly brushing Token aside, he planted himself over Kevin’s still sprawled out frame, leering. Craig reached for a fistful of his shirt, “I’m going to beat you until you shit yourself,” 

“Craig, wait.” Token sighed, disgruntled and obviously losing his patience. “What even happened?” 

“Butters tripped and fell down the stairs onto him. I guess he wanted a show,” 

Leo’s face reddened, “Don’t be crude, Ken,” 

Token’s eyes were tired, but his tone still held that note of deliberation that just seemed like it should be listened to. His question was devoid of any true questioning, the male’s mood having been quickly soured, “Why were you on the stairs, Kevin.” 

Craig’s grasp along his shirt tightened. Kevin could feel a presence behind him, squatting, smug and prepared to unleash veiled wrath. 

Kenny’s breath tickled his neck, “Why were you on the stairs, Kevin?” 

It was going to be a long night. 

She couldn’t say for sure if there was any one presence there that Nichole could count on to be entirely truthful. 

What had started out as a simple, albeit awkward situation escalated after Clyde had made his way up from the basement to accuse Kevin’s midnight rendezvous as being known by everyone aside from the former missing. As if it were to somehow keep them in their place, to ensure that they remained planted, not wandering where they were advised not to, not disobeying the rules, the order, whatever strange hierarchy had formed under loud words and childhood panic.

“There’s no way that not one of you would have found him at some point!” A bitter laugh fell eagerly from Clyde’s lips, earning glares from the newly awoken and offended alike. “What, you guys think that we’re going to go somewhere scary?” He waved his hands, sarcastic, “Have you forgotten that you guys are just as messed up as we are? Why are you acting like we have to be controlled? Hell, Butters is the one who murdered his parents and he still has free range--” 

“That’s not what this is about.” Kenny pushed forward, away from his unimpressed position along the wall, “You’re getting everyone upset for nothing. Kevin is-- Kevin is weird, we know that, we acknowledge it, and we should address it tomorrow,” 

Cartman snorted, “I’m sorry, Kinny, were you under the impression that you could tell any of us what to do? You came into one meeting and suddenly you’re in charge? I don’t think you get to call those shots,” 

“So you admit that you just want to order us around.” Craig’s scowl deepened, his brows pressing closer together as he sighed, “You’re all hypocrites,” 

Heidi flushed, “That’s not what he said!” Arms crossed, she sighed, “Eric is just saying that Kenny shouldn’t be the one to make certain decisions since he hasn’t been here for as long,” 

“There it is.” 

The words left her lips, heated, poignant, but most certainly unintentional. 

Nichole swallowed under the weight of pressing looks. She wanted to ignore Token’s eyes on her frame, his position unclear to her from the beginning, but she found herself searching for his gaze regardless of her better judgement. 

It was steady, hesitant, withheld-- adjectives that had become all too familiar to his demeanor when it came to these discussions. More than anything, he acted as a mediator, never quite stepping on anyone’s toes, never fully dismantling the argument on either side even if Nichole knew that he was perfectly capable of doing so. 

And it wasn’t his lack of assertion that bothered her, because there was logic in passivity. 

It was the lack of opinion. The way he observed, observed everything, always knowing and noticing, but never offering further comment. Never pressing down onto subjects that needed to be addressed-- and Nichole had waited. She could tell that Token didn’t agree with how clear their divisions and limits were being drawn, it was evident-- pursed lips and small shakes of his head. And yet--

Nichole had waited, but Token’s defenses never came. And at first she was resentful towards his lack of action, and then she was worried.

Token didn’t agree with his companions, but there was still something that kept him from voicing his viewpoint. Another secret, another ‘incident’, another, another, always another something else. 

Nichole breathed in the air of confidence she knew she would need to keep herself from getting emotional, before she continued. “It always comes back down to who's been here the longest. And you know, up to a certain point, I could have understood it,” 

“But it’s power to you guys. ‘I’m right because you don’t know any better’, ‘You can’t go there, you wouldn’t understand, but you can’t go’-- how can we keep on like this? We need to lay things out, this is a conversation that has to happen but no one is breaking,” 

Nichole’s fingers were shaky, so she drew them into fists and clenched them at her side. “It was because you didn’t want us to be scared of the adults, right? But you didn’t tell us everything, not even then. Not about how it’s so-- so lethal.” 

She could feel Wendy’s silent pleas for her to stop. She met Red’s look of unease, avoiding Heidi’s pale, flat expression. 

“You’re not keeping something from us for our benefit. You’re keeping something because you’re afraid-- but if you have something to be afraid of then we have to know! We don’t have our families anymore. We’ve seen what’s happened to some of yours, and we should have been honest with that from the beginning. We only have each other now, so I’m begging you,” 

Tricia and Karen wormed their way through the small mass of gangly, mushed bodies, reaching back for a certain blonde, trembling and white faced, seeking to remove him, watched by multiple witnesses, witnessing, connecting--

“Tell us what has you all so on edge all the time. We can take it, we’ve seen so much fucked shit-- just tell us. This is the only way for us to ever really be comfortable with each other,” 

Eric was being contained by the eager, worried murmurs of his girlfriend. Kyle and Wendy were discussing low amongst themselves, and Stan, who remained within earshot, seemed to jump suddenly at something that was said. There were so many observations, so many small nuances of communication, and then, suddenly, breaking out from the noise--

“Tweek killed Kevin McCormick.” 

And for a moment, everything stopped. 

Kevin Stoley sat, crisscrossed, beady eyed and unphased. “He killed him, and Ned, that old gun guy. And then the adults said they were going to kill all of us, since we did that, and since there were too many of us to live off of the shipments,”

“Kevin,” Kyle’s authoritative word indicated warning. “Hey, Stoley-” 

“So we lured most of the adults to the old elementary school and burned it down. You can see it on the other side of town, so obviously no one wanted you to go there,” 

Tweek wasn’t moving, Karen was teary eyed and anxious as she tugged on his sleeves. Tricia pushed him from his other side, but the blonde was vacant, whimpering. 

Kenny attempted to wheedle his way against the crowd to his sister, snapping Craig out of his silent, wide eyed stupor, but the approach of the two males only seemed to worsen Tweek’s state. 

Kevin continued, “We boarded the doors and poured gasoline around--”

“No,” Wendy grabbed him from behind, “Kevin, stop--” 

“We could hear all of them screaming. Our neighbors, your families, our teachers--”

“Kevin stop!” 

“And the ones who didn’t show up were smart enough to realize that they couldn’t bother us anymore. We’d kill them if they did, and likewise. Now we could all live off of supplies-- happily ever after,” 

There was the hard impact of fist to face, as Kevin was knocked backwards. Wendy heaved, winded from painful memories, scared of the trauma she didn’t want to confront. Not now, not like this.

“So if you really want to know more about it,” Kevin regained his footing, wiping at his bleeding nose with a stained sleeve, “Ask him.” He nudged his head towards the attention of the room, standing in all of his grace with mismatched socks and hands in his hair, pulling, wheezing, shaking. 

Kevin watched him blankly. 

Craig, lifting Kevin up by the collar of his shirt, pointedly decked his nose for what was then the second time of the evening.

And then there was Red, in the physical and name sense, as Craig’s cousin suddenly inserted herself between them, yelling and pointing defensively as he attempted to maneuver around her-- and then Clyde was on Kevin’s back, getting his own head slammed roughly into the wall as Bebe shrieked, tumbling back into Jimmy, who managed to stabilize them both. 

“I--it was-- it was an accident! Nngh, God, fucking-- I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to kill him, God!” Tweek tore at his roots, “Y-you don’t understand! None of you get it, nngh-- he was already a goner!”

“I’m not a monster.” Nichole was certain that those in the louder parts of the room wouldn’t be able to hear his frightened murmurs, “I’m not a monster, I’m n-not, nngh! I’m not, I’m not, I want out, I want out!” He heaved, “I want out! G-God, it’s too much-- I can’t, I can’t--” 

Leo tucked him away under his arm, shielding Tweek’s ears from the noise, looking frazzled. “I gotcha buddy. We’re going somewhere nice, jus’ you an’ me for a little bit. Breathe, don’t forget to breathe! That’s awfully important…” 

Tweek clung to his shirt. “I’m not a monster,” 

Butters’ eyes softened, “‘Course not. Just like how I’m not bad. Come on, now, we’ve got a lot of boys trying to act like men in here, and they’re too rowdy for us.” There was an edge to his polite smile as Leo excused them from the corridor. 

Tricia and Karen, who had been somewhat scooted away by Kenny, were both struggling to contain their brimming fear and worries, jolting suddenly at the loud noises and curses being thrown about. Kenny strained his voice, “Oi, Fucker! Get over here,” 

Craig’s head lifted at the nickname, his lividity beginning to calm somewhat at the sight of his distraught sibling. Stan, who had been tangling with him so as to ensure Kevin’s survival, huffed. “Stop being a hardass and go to your sister, dick,” 

Craig flipped him off, but seemed ashamed as he slumped his posture, shrinking. 

Bebe and Jimmy insisted on helping Clyde navigate the stairs to the basement, where Heidi watched with longful eyes, before choosing to follow Eric’s trail of fury as he shouted his way around the entire mansion. 

Nichole cried. 

She hadn’t meant for this, this wasn’t what she wanted, they had burned people, burned them alive, there was so much, so much, and she really didn’t know what to do, just standing, cradling herself, that wasn’t what she wanted--

Why couldn’t they have just been kids? 

They could have gone through all of middle school together. Crush drama, sports fights, the first taste of drugs and alcohol-- for some, if they wanted to be ‘grown up’ enough. Then high school, where studies get serious and parties get more fun. They would have had them at Token’s-- his mansion was perfect for it, built in speakers and a movie room, rich enough for food rentals and catering. Nichole would have been just finishing up her english homework before she’d go out and load into Bebe’s car, and they’d all be there, in cute skirts and edgy fits for some, excited, enjoying their youth in ways they never got to. 

And then they’d arrive, and it would already be chaos-- all strewn and messed, Clyde being loud, Stan and Kyle off somewhere before Wendy would make herself known, Kenny smoking God-knew-what in the bathroom with Leo, dangling his feet off the counter. 

And everything would be going so great, so fun, and as the end of the night (or morning) would draw near, Nichole would finally get a moment alone with Token, and they could talk, and kiss, and date, and do normal teenage things in an abnormal town, just like they should have. 

But they had never gotten that life. 

And Nichole, foolishly, naively, had hoped upon her initial awakening of being returned that perhaps they could somehow recreate it. Give it the same feeling, the same memories she had but didn’t, really, and maybe it would all fall into place. They had been through it all, didn’t they deserve at least that much?

It was what she yearned for, more than anything. 

But it wasn’t hers to have. 

It wasn’t anyone’s. 

“Nichole,” 

She jumped, wiping her face with her sweater, turning to look at the face she had idolized, respected, for so long. 

And instead of seeing anything more, she just gazed at his face. Dimples, smooth skin, worried lines, eyes widened from the panic of what had just occurred. Guilt, fear, blatant confliction. 

Nichole was glad to look at it and still see him in there. Even under all the mess that had become their lives, and the secrecy of morbidity and flames, she was glad. 

“Nichole.” He was choked, caught up on the words that had left to leave his parted lips, “I’m sorry. It was never what-- what any of us wanted. We were kids and we were terrified. No one feels good about it, and we,” He closed his eyes, “We’re reminded. Every single day. And it hurts, but when you all came back...I guess we thought we could go back to a place that doesn’t really exist anymore,” 

“We didn’t want you to know. We didn’t know what to say. You guys were subjected and forced under all of these awful things. But we--Nichole, we did the awful things,” Token hid his streaky face, “We knew better, I know we did. But no one could find the words,” 

“Except for Kevin.” Nichole laughed from the shock.

“Except for Kevin,” 

And that was it. 

Token excused himself, seeing as Nichole still needed to process the horror, seeing as Token was far from ready to have a true discussion. 

That was Nichole’s party moment. That was her romantic indulgence, her sweet goodnight. 

That was it. 

Nichole returned to her room, alone, unsure if Bebe would return from Clyde’s side anytime soon. 

In her fantasy, she would be returning to her bedroom, her real one, all giddy and excited from new possibilities, burying her face in her pillow to conceal her giggles and senseless blushings and she struggled to fall asleep.

In Nichole’s bitter reality, she returned to the room that made her feel as though she was staying in a hotel, shocked and emotionally numb, burying her face in the sheets to conceal her screams as she struggled to escape her thoughts. 

All she could see was fire. Burning her dreams, her past, herself, the people she loved most. 

Nichole lost herself in the flames that night.

She didn’t know if, come daybreak, she'd ever truly find herself again. 

She wanted comfort.

But it wasn’t hers to have. 

It wasn’t anyone’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the update delay :) It’s been hard to adjust to a new online school schedule, ha. 
> 
> To clear up any confusion, Kevin was technically killed by both Jimbo and Tweek, so previous statements regarding he and the adults were made because a majority of people don’t blame Tweek for what happened. There’s a lot to that situation, and it will be coming to light very soon! 
> 
> This was a chapter with big reveals and I hope I did it justice. Questions, comments or critiques are always welcome! See you guys soon <3 stay healthy


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Mentions of drug use/violence ahead, possible tw for f slur**
> 
>   
> He learned of the fire four days after it occurred. 
> 
> It was his fault.

The air was alight with the melody of birdsong and the earthy scent of early morning rain. 

Spring was starting to set in, and Kyle was entirely overrun with tasks to be completed. Their latest shipment had finally arrived, with it being seeds and batteries, fabrics and cloths for much needed new clothes, materials they could have used two weeks ago. 

What Kyle was most thankful for, though, was the opportunity it presented. A chance to get away from the awkward atmosphere of Token’s mansion and out into the heart of the forest, open and expanding, constantly under the watch of the sky. 

Should the weather prove itself to be in their favor, they’d be able to relocate back to their homely camp fairly soon. 

It had only been two days since Stoley’s showing of his clear lack of regard for any sort of steady calm within their lives. There were so many questions, so much humiliation for Tweek to shoulder and it truly wasn’t fair. 

Kevin McCormick was already done for. If anything, Tweek’s anxiety ridden lapse of judgement had been a blessing for a dying boy, nothing short of a saving, and certainly not the cold act of murder Stoley had attempted to miscontrue. His implication alone had sent the blonde into a panic, as any mention of the event often did, and now he lurked about outside until nightfall in hopes to avoid any and every presence he came across. 

Kyle wanted so desperately to clear the air, but the story, the events that came before it-- they didn’t belong to him. Tweek’s innocence was only something he could proclaim, but the words were meaningless without any truth to ensure them.

Tweek would grow tired eventually, Kyle was sure of it. He would return and it would be difficult, but he would say what he needed to, assist Craig and Kenny and all the others in understanding why things had taken that sour, deadly turn. 

But there was too much to worry about, and frankly, Kyle couldn’t keep an eye out for everyone every minute of every day. 

In the brief minutes after dawn, Kyle had made it effectively clear that, at least for the day’s start, he would be alone in his sortings of new supplies, if only for the grounding of his mind and the sake of his sanity. 

There were two exceptions to this statement. Not that they’d been invited; but, well-- Kyle wasn’t so confident he had desired to be entirely alone, anyway. 

“Let’s give it at least another week before we come back, so that it’s not too cold in the mornings.” Wendy’s arm was linked within his, though her gaze wandered through the filtering light of towering trees, distracted. “On second thought, maybe five days or so, it’s starting to warm up fast,” 

Stan’s hand enveloped hers, his shoes kicking misplaced rocks as they approached their assortment of huts and shacks along Stark’s Pond. “Doesn’t rain ever get in through the shelters?” 

Wendy offered a small grin of assurance, “We duck tape all the holes we can manage. It’s really not so bad-- being outside is so much easier with a big group than being inside Token’s, you’ll see,” 

“Do you guys have room for eight more people?” Stan loosened his grip, placing his arms behind his mop of disheveled raven hair, absorbing what had become home to his companions over the last five years of his absence. 

Kyle seemed to have found his voice, “We’ll use some of the wood from the supply crate for new shacks. We might have to cut down some trees, but no more than three-- we really only sleep in them when it rains, so they don’t have to be perfect,” 

“Right.” Stan’s tone was practically swimming in doubt. 

Wendy snorted at his open display of worry, bringing her arms up to enclose around his neck, laughing into his shoulder as she teased. 

Kyle smiled softly, the first mustered grin he had managed in days, and moved to begin putting all of their supplies into place. 

It made him think back to three and a half years past, just about, in a time where fallen leaves painted the ground in sunset colored foliage, and the heat of his temperament constantly simmered beneath his skin despite the rapidly cooling weather. 

The scene itself was relatively familiar-- the large wooden crate towering above him, containing the basic necessities that would prove vital in the coming winter months. However, rather than being in relatively good spirits, Kyle was practically bursting at the seams of pure, unfiltered emotion. 

It had been a long time coming. Before everything went to hell, and their lives contained at least some sense of normalcy, there had always been unspoken discomfort between Kyle and his best friend’s long time love interest, Wendy Testaburger. It was the type of distinct feeling that didn’t quite need to be acknowledged, as all parties were aware of it, and none were too keen on disrupting the fragile balance they had culminated over the years in lieu of any sort of conflict. 

Kyle would complain to Stan, over the course of things, about how Wendy was dramatic and far too demanding. Wendy, in turn, insisted that Kyle didn’t see Stan for how he really was-- that he projected false, boyish, and immature images upon him, constricting his development and keeping him entrapped along the feeble boundaries that existed between childhood and adolescence. 

But if they wanted Stan to be by their side, they at least had to form some sort of tolerance for one another. 

This tolerance fell apart after it all fell into place-- that they were alone, and that their loved ones were gone. 

Hearing Stan’s name coming from Wendy’s lips hurt Kyle in ways that he wouldn’t admit, at first, because it had always been so much easier to act as though Stan wasn’t hers when he wasn’t confronted with the memories he and Stan hadn’t shared together. 

And maybe that was why, on that fall afternoon, Kyle finally lost the self control he had attempted so hard to impose upon himself. 

Wendy had been in the midst of conversation with Heidi, nostalgic and reflective, voicing her fondest moments of she and Stan by Stark’s Pond. 

Kyle couldn’t stand it. 

“Jesus Christ, Wendy, we get it. You miss your boyfriend. We all miss people, we don’t need to keep talking about it,”

Heidi had retreated from the oncoming fight, but the tension had only proven to progress further in her absence. 

Wendy glared at him, cold, all knowing in that way of hers that made Kyle feel angrily vulnerable. “What is your problem Kyle? Am I not allowed to talk about him?” 

Kyle looked away, busying himself with the fabric at his hands as he folded them into small bundles. “You act like you’re the only one who actually knew him,” 

“You’ve got to be joking.” Kyle felt her eyes boring through him, sharp, “You’re such a hypocrite, do you know that? I know that it must have been difficult coming to terms with how you felt about Stan--” 

Kyle jerked his head to face her, “What is that supposed to mean?”

And suddenly Wendy’s determination flared down into something more akin to pity, and it only fueled Kyle’s anger further. 

“Kyle,” She spoke in that infuriating tone of placation, “Don’t do this, okay? I know that it’s hard for you, but--”

“You always act like you know everything.” Kyle snarled, “Stan was always changing himself because of you! I was there for him whenever you decided you were done,” 

“That’s not what happened and you know it!” Exasperated, Wendy pressed on, “I saw so much in him, Kyle, but you should know better than anyone that you guys would get involved in shit you didn’t need to be involved in,” 

His chest ached. “You only wanted him when he was easy for you,” 

“You don’t get to take your regrets out on me, it’s not fair!” 

Kyle’s head was spinning. “What are you trying to say?” 

Wendy wiped away at her teary eyes with a fast, unsteady hand. “Why do you want me to say it so badly?” 

There was red behind Kyle’s vision. He could hear his blood rushing heavily in his ears, could feel his heart pounding painfully against his chest. 

Sometimes his anger was the only way he felt alive. 

Stan would have hated to see him like this. 

“Say it.” Kyle’s drawl was venomous and shaky, “Go on, Wendy, say it. Why don’t you tell me about what a fag I am? Why don’t you remind me about all the ways I could never compare to you?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Wendy was on the verge of screaming, now. “I don’t get you, Kyle. Why did it always have to be some competition?” 

“Because I loved him.” 

He hadn’t meant to say it. 

Wendy’s expression fell, and Kyle loathed the way he could feel himself trembling. 

“I loved him.” His voice was weak. “But now he’s gone. And everytime you talk about him I remember that I never had him the way I wanted to, and you did.” 

Kyle sank to his knees, embedding his fingers through untamed curly hair. “I wish we had had more time,” 

Wendy sat in front of him, quiet; rattled. “We can’t go back to the past. We have to keep going for everyone who’s gone,” 

Kyle felt his grip tighten, “I don’t want to.” 

Wendy smiled, and with sun filtered patterns framing her strands of loose hair and decorating her face, Kyle was reminded yet again of why Stan must have cared for her so. 

“I know.” She sighed, “I don’t, either. But they wouldn’t have wanted us to give up,” 

It wasn’t the first time the sentiment had been expressed. Of giving up-- of throwing their lives away, of letting the adults take them. 

But somehow, they always found their way back to the beauty that was at least having the resolve to try. 

Kyle heard her sharp intake of breath, witnessed the fluttering of her eyes as Wendy closed them before she spoke. 

“I’m sorry, Kyle.” She refused to avert her eyes, looking at him so earnestly, and Kyle felt small. “I wasn’t always right when I was younger, and I’m sorry for how it all played out.” Wendy bit her lip, “I don’t know if this will help any, and I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t believe it,”

Kyle’s breath hitched.

“Stan was conflicted because of you, I think.” Wendy grinned sadly, “And it would make me jealous of you, too. Even though he never realized it fully,” 

Kyle’s hands fell to his sides, “I kissed him once,” 

Wendy quirked a brow, “Only once?” 

There was a moment of hesitation, “No,” 

The laughter was emotional, and awkward, and filled with the kind of heaviness Kyle felt he couldn’t escape from. 

But it was shared laughter between them nonetheless. 

“I want to be friends, Kyle.” Wendy stared at him, patient, perceptive and waiting. 

Stan would have been so happy to have seen them together. 

“I don’t know, Wendy,” Kyle looked away, laying his cheek along his knee, unsettled with the fact that the idea wasn’t one he was completely opposed to. 

“We have to make our future the best it can be. Without everyone who’s gone, and without holding everything from before against each other. We were kids then,” 

Kyle furrowed his brow, “We were still kids when they left,” 

“All the more reason for us to try and grow from this,” 

When Wendy gazed at him so hopefully, Kyle found that it was incredibly hard to deny her. Not because of sheer obligation alone, but because of the fact that her inspiration was contagious, and before long, you found yourself believing her too. 

No wonder Stan had gone through periods of self proclaimed improvement. 

Wendy made him want to be better. But more than that, Kyle realized that he could be. 

A feather light touch along his arm brought Kyle back to the present. 

Wendy didn’t bother to hide her amusement, “You’ve been staring off for about five minutes now. We don’t have time to waste, you know,” 

Kyle shook his head, “If it means I get to avoid seeing the fatass for another half hour, then we have time,” 

Rolling her eyes in silent disapproval, Wendy placed a chaste kiss to his cheek before gesturing for him to continue sorting through their new canned goods and seeds. 

Ten or so feet away, Stan was making piles from various clothing sizes. He caught Kyle’s eye, and offered a lazy wink. 

And for what wasn’t the first time, Kyle was thankful that he hadn’t given up. 

They hadn’t gained it all back, no. 

But he had Ike, and Stan, and Kenny, and Wendy-- and really, at least for now, Kyle was okay.

They would be okay. 

There was something about finally being able to enjoy the warmth of sun seeping along his skin that had Leo in high spirits. 

New huts were being built, and new gardens for the upcoming sunny days of spring and early summer sat protected under a tethered, weary tarp. Butters had always found himself more inclined to be productive when it came to tasks like that-- hands on, enjoyable, leaving way for nature to grow. Even if it was silly, and even if it was just for them, somehow the thought was enough to bring him the sense of peace he had been missing. 

It was hard to focus, what with the buzz of voices and thrums of noisy birds, but Butters found that the comforting drone of noise was enough to soothe the pains of his conscious and the faces he saw whenever he closed his eyes. 

He could feel a droplet of sweat falling down the small of his back. 

Shuddering, Leo swiftly pitched his shirt over his head, bangs falling into his eyes as the cloth fell into the small pile of tossed away clothes that had accumulated throughout the day. Stark’s Pond was Butters favorite part of their makeshift home-- it was perfect for both bathing and leisure, and it was far too good of a day to pass up on swimming.

Clyde was clinging to Token’s arm, insisting that it had been so long since he had swam that he would die without assistance. 

“You’re going to kill us both,” Token shoved away at the brunet’s thrashing grasp, effectively kicking him in the stomach as he swam back. 

Clyde gripped the bank, wheezing, laying his head woefully onto Bebe’s lap as she dangled her legs along the edge. She comforted him with words of encouragement, moving wet strands of hair out of his eyes before his dejected face contorted into something far more mischievous. 

Bebe squealed, losing her place in the grass to Clyde’s tug, both falling down into the clutches of stunningly cold water.

Karen and Tricia were assisting Ike in renewing his own swimming skills with the use of a large piece of rotting driftwood. He was doing relatively well, increasingly distracted by his brother hovering too close for his liking. 

“I don’t need your help, Kyle,” 

Kyle attempted not to sound as defensive as he looked, “I know that, I’m just watching to see how you do. There’s a difference,” 

“Uh huh, sure, whatever you say Kahl.” Eric swam by, unabashedly, pausing to give Kyle a smug glance that would surely lead to nothing but trouble. “It’s not like it’s obvious with you just hanging around or anything,” 

Face flushed, Kyle averted his stare, “This has nothing to do with you, Cartman,” 

“It’s weird to hang out with people four years younger than you, Kahl,” 

“He’s my brother, asshat, for God’s sake--” 

Leo stopped listening after that. 

Craig and Jimmy were speaking quietly, lingering nearby the shore under a tree, wearing troubled looks and exchanging worried words. 

Tweek was still nowhere to be seen, but Leo figured that he just needed time. Tweek had been through a lot, more than he deserved, and really, it was no wonder he had taken off. Stoley had brought up unhealed trauma, a series of events that could have proved fatal for him. 

In a strange way, Butters understood. They had both been somewhat outcasted as children, he and Tweek-- both substituted in and out of Stan’s gang for a bit, before eventually being left to their own devices. Whereas Tweek had gained a spot with Token and the rest, and Leo had (at least somewhat) been adapted into his own group via Cartman’s manipulation, they were both still somehow the first to be looked down upon. Tweek was twitchy and paranoid, and Butters was naive, bordering on blunt, and easy to use. 

If that hadn’t given enough incentive for friendship, then later events certainly had. Their families were both interesting, to say the least-- though Leo hadn’t suffered as much until the murder of his parents, and even then, it had truly been a long time coming. 

Leo blinked. 

He didn’t want to think of that, now. 

Upon the rough feeling of hands along his waist, Leo startled slightly, turning his head to meet sun kissed skin and smiling eyes hiding behind messy blonde hair. 

“Hi Butterfly,” Kenny murmured the words, languidly, speaking them into the crevice of Butters’ neck. “Are you going to just stand there all day?” 

“Well, Gee, I guess not,” Leo laughed, airy, his stomach twisting into knots at the proximity. “That’d be a waste, wouldn’t it?” 

Kenny nodded solemnly, “Oh, it would. We can’t have that.” Nimble fingers threw away the light jacket covering the dirty blonde’s frame, leaving nothing but open torso and freckled skin. 

Butters pointedly looked away-- it was important to be a gentleman, after all, and he wouldn’t want to make Kenny uncomfortable. When his companion fell silent, Leo turned to meet his gaze, finding Kenny biting his lip in wry amusement. 

Butters blinked, “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” He shrugged lazily, “It’s just that-- you know. You can look if you want to,” 

Leo flushed, “Oh, hamburgers, well, I-- I just, I wouldn’t want to--uh,” 

“Come on, we have to make it even,” Kenny lightly pulled Butters forward, his breath tickling Leo’s ear, “I mean, I’ve been looking at you,” 

Leo could feel fire flooding his face as he shielded it from view. “It’s not nice to tease people, Ken!” 

Kenny opened his mouth to most likely offer some sort of jokingly dirty reply before he was interrupted by nasally indignation. 

“Boooooo.” Craig cupped his mouth so as to make himself heard, “Go be gay somewhere else, some people are having relationship problems, assholes,” 

Kenny offered a small salute and a wink, before leading Leo to the water’s edge. 

“Don’t mind him, Butters, Craig is just jealous that Tweekers isn’t around for him to hang out with.”

Butters nodded, attempting to fight the sinking sensation within his chest at the reminder of his friend’s blatant avoidance. “Right,” 

Kenny frowned a bit at the sudden tank in Leo’s mood, “You said that Tweek could handle himself, right?” He scratched at his neck, “I mean, he got through whatever my brother did,” 

Leo nodded, trying to avoid the guilt clawing at his insides. “I know that you wanna know about it, Ken. I think we were all just tryin’ to keep it under wraps, but that hasn’t done anybody any good, so...so later on I think it’d be good if we talked about it.” 

Even if Tweek wanted to desperately to keep everyone from remembering his vulnerability, this was Kenny’s brother, his family, and really, Butters should have chosen to be upfront with him about it from the very beginning. Even so, Kenny was patient. He didn’t want to ask Karen to tell him, since it’d upset her, and he had taken no qualms in accepting that it wasn’t something that was going to be talked about for a bit.

It was another reason for Leo to admire him. 

It was another reason for Leo to feel as though he had been bad. 

Studying his crestfallen expression, Kenny’s features softened into a small smile. He took advantage of Butters lowered head, pausing to card through his hair with gentle fingers. “I’d like that. But you know, we can talk about that later.” 

Leo felt the ground lurch beneath his feet, releasing a sound of surprise as he was lifted off and away from the sturdiness of solid earth and instead relinquished into Kenny’s arms in a bridal carry. 

Kenny grinned, “It’s too nice out to be sad, Buttercup,” 

Butters couldn’t help from closing his eyes as they rapidly approached the water, bracing himself for bone chilling impact, waiting for the feeling of being plunged into icy, aching depths. 

But then Kenny tripped on a rock. 

And well, they certainly made it into the water-- amidst flailing limbs and curses on behalf of Kenny’s toe, knocking foreheads and stumbling into the pond with all the grace of a recovery from a near fatal collision.

Kenny, who had still been mid lament regarding the state of his foot, had met the water with an open mouth, and surfaced with not only the numbing chill, but with liquid being hacked ungraciously from his lungs, made worse by his laughter. 

And Butters tried not to show his amusement, but it was too difficult to prevent, seeing as how he could hear the laughter of most people present, intermingled with a few exclamations and yelled concerns. 

“You dummy!” Karen shouted at her brother’s display, exasperatedly worried and amused.

Eric doubled over, “That was really fucking smooth Kenny! God, I can’t breathe,” 

Kenny placed a dramatic hand to his forehead at their words, as if to signal that it truly was the end. 

Bebe shook her head, her giggles tame in comparison to Clyde’s raucous cackling, “I thought both of you were goners,” 

“We’re l-lucky that it wasn’t Cartman,” Jimmy yelled over the noise, “The whole t-tuh-town would have been flooded,” 

The joke was met with cheers and noises of approval, much to Cartman’s indignation. 

Kenny brushed his hair away from his forehead, grinning. “Your laughter wounds me, Butterfree,” 

Leo smiled, only slightly apologetic, “Sorry Ken. I guess I should have warned you about the rock, but I really thought you’d see it!” 

“It’s hard to see sometimes when your hair is as hot as mine.” Kenny shook his near shoulder length locks for emphasis, though they stayed plastered to his skin. 

Butters smiled, “Are you alright?”

“I’m still alive, so I’ll count that as a win.” Kenny shrugged, “How’s your head?” 

Leo had felt the impact from their heads bumping together, but aside from a bruise or two, he was sure there wasn’t anything to worry about. “It hurt a little bit, but I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” 

“Want me to kiss it better?” Kenny wagged his eyebrows, and Butters splashed at him in response. 

The afternoon passed with the feeling of water lapping at his skin, the clouds covering the sun as a soft breeze began to pick up. At some point, Wendy and Red announced that all of their essentials had been moved throughout the day by those who didn’t want to swim, and thus would begin their outside living for the coming months. 

Dusk was beginning to settle over their small mountain town, with fireflies glowing and trees rustling from woodland creatures flitting about. The sky was dimming, and Butters, for the first time in several days, felt entirely at peace. 

Well, almost. 

His nerves were thrumming about, not quite restless but just near so, anticipating the looming conversation with Kenny once he returned with dry clothes. Butters was busying himself by rearranging his sleeping bag, not unsettled by his soon to be company, but rather, how Kenny would react to it all. 

There was a small knock announcing his arrival. Kenny ducked into the entrance-- as most had to do, before sitting up and hanging his arm around Butters’ shoulder. “Hey,” 

Kenny was warm, with nothing but a sleeveless undershirt and low hanging shorts, his hair messy and still slightly damp, eyes bright with an emotion Leo couldn’t place. 

Butters swallowed thickly. “Hi Ken,” 

The words came out quieter than he had intended. 

Leo wrung his hands, “W-well, now that you’re all settled in I guess I should just, uh-- sorry, I just need a second to think of how to start,” 

“Are you nervous, Bunny?” Kenny shifted his weight, leaning forwards slightly, repositioning himself so as to better examine Butters’ expression. “You don’t need to be nervous, it’s just me,” 

Leo had never been particularly high strung when he was around Kenny. In their adolescence, he became the only person who could really keep Butters from constantly worrying, from obsessing over his wrongdoings, from mulling over what he lacked, what he could do to become more popular among the other kids. Even before their days of true friendship had started, Kenny had never given Leo any reason to be anxious around him. 

Butters wouldn’t say that the emotion he felt around Kenny was ‘nervous’. It was similar to that-- it made his knees weak and his stomach flip, it made his hands clammy, it made his heartbeat stutter along his ribcage, forced his head into strange bits of lightheadedness. It made him think about Kenny, more than he wanted to, much like he did when they were younger. 

But this was different, more pleasant than nerves alone-- because while Leo could still stay that the symptoms weren’t always the easiest thing to brush off, he still wanted them. He craved this emotion like no other, pursued it subconsciously, left himself defenseless and vulnerable in a way that didn’t allow him to feel humiliated like nerves usually would. 

With Kenny, it was never just nerves. 

But, with the knowledge of Kevin McCormick’s death hanging between them, Leo supposed it was only natural to feel a bit jittery. 

“Ah, well-- Ken, um. I feel like you’re goin’ to get a bit upset with what Kevin did, you know, I’m not trying to slander your dead brother or anything--” 

Kenny snorted, “Believe me, Butters, I know my brother was an ass. Karen and I, we learned from our parents. Kevin practically became the worst parts of them, sometimes.” The arm that hung around Leo’s frame tensed, if only slightly. 

Hesitantly, Butters reached for the hand that was strewn across Kenny’s lap, pausing to give it a small squeeze. 

“So if you’re afraid that I won’t believe you, I will. You know I trust you,” Kenny’s hold on him tightened, and with a small, reassuring smile, he nodded for Butters to continue. 

And Butters truly did try to do just that. 

But then it all came back. 

The aftermath of what happened, the fallout, the flames that never really died. 

He shuddered. 

“Butters?” 

Kenny’s voice, closer than before, drew him out of his momentary stupor. It lingered near his ear, near his heart, within the depths of head that incessantly played whatever came out of his mouth on repeat. 

Leo blinked. 

“Leo, are you okay?” 

And before he could really think about it, before he could truly understand his pressing desire to just be close to the warmth and safety that was Kenny, Butters was quick to place a chaste, fluttering kiss along the lips that spoke his name so fondly. 

Leo moved to pull away, to utter some sort of cohesive apology for the inappropriate timing, but Kenny’s grasp kept him planted still as he reconnected them, his hands circling tenderly around Butters’ waist, his lips pulling, pushing, igniting a kind of affection that was so intense Leo felt it as a tangible pain in his chest.

And when they finally broke it, Kenny grinned at him, “Are you still nervous?”

“No,” Butters returned his grin. “I’m alright, Ken.”

“Yeah?” Kenny leaned down to pepper feathery kisses along Butters’ neck.

“Yeah.” 

There was no more time for stalling. 

Steadying himself with a deep breath, Butters began. 

“Well, I guess you could say that it really started before you all even left,” 

There was always some sort of comfort in being alone. 

As a child, Tweek feared it. He was afraid of looming monsters seeking his blood, or gnomes seeking his underpants, or ghouls seeking his soul. 

But what he had come to learn was that when you were alone, you could pretend that no one sought anything from you. There were no expectations, no noise, no worries of letting anyone down. When he went on his occasional escapades into town, Tweek acted as though there truly was no one else-- not because that was how he wanted it, but because it somehow felt easier to imagine a life where he couldn’t be judged, couldn’t fail the people he cared for most. Who he was wouldn’t matter, because there would be no witnesses to his flaws. No pressure to be refined, no urge to be strong in ways he wasn’t. 

Tweek shuffled into a pair of clean clothes, hoping his small movements wouldn’t attract any attention. It was dark, bordering on stuffy within his tent, his hair still damp from the brief dip he took in the lake to cleanse himself after all the extra prying eyes were away.

Tweek couldn’t bring himself to face them, to explain it. Not again, not after years had passed and he was finally recovered, not after it had stopped being a constant plague to what little sleep he managed to obtain. 

And so he ran, as he often did when it became too much. Ran to the middle school chalked up with his hand drawn calendars, the home of his constant tracking, ran to Craig’s house, stared at the walls of glow stars and mysterious stains, sat in the stuffy back room of his old busted shop if only to go through memories he would never get back. 

And before he knew it, before he ever thought he would be, Tweek was ready. 

Not to tell everyone, he wasn’t sure if he could ever manage to say it all at once. To those who were gone, who didn’t know, he couldn’t find the words to explain. 

But Craig was different. Craig had come back, when Tweek had cried and yearned for years, suddenly he was there. Tweek had been so terrified of him knowing, so completely mortified at even the prospect of the person he respected the most realizing what had become of him. 

And if it had been anyone else, Tweek still wouldn’t have mustered the courage to explain it himself. 

But this was Craig, and Craig was different. 

Craig was the ground that kept Tweek’s feet steady, the sunrises and sunsets that painted more color across the sky than he ever thought imaginable. Even in the worst of it, with Tweek manic and near delirious with emotions he didn’t know how to contain, he thought of sturdy, unjudging eyes and the comfort of hearing that he would be okay. 

So Tweek pulled his light jacket tighter around his frame, bracing himself for what was to come. He didn’t have to lament over where Craig would be, because as clear of a night as it was, he wouldn’t be sleeping. 

Despite the fact that he wasn’t supposed to leave for town, Tweek estimated that Craig, especially now with the blonde’s disappearance, would do exactly that, because he was just as stubborn and ultimately bull headed as Tweek remembered. 

Crossing back through the tree line, Tweek jogged down past the identical rows of houses, breathing deeply against his burning lungs as he lurked behind a familiar, worn down wooden staircase. He pushed the door in easily, struggling to contain the jumps of fright at every creaking step as he journeyed up the stairs.

Down the upper hall and to the left, with space themed posters and stuffed guinea pigs, was an old room that wasn’t really used much anymore. It held some of Tweek’s most cherished memories, and despite the fact that many of its contents had been taken and relocated to the storage room of Tweak Bro’s, most of the room remained just as it was the night Craig had vanished. 

The window was open, and even though Tweek had tried to prepare himself properly, he would have never managed to combat the amount of nerves he felt thrumming through his veins upon glancing on that familiar, looming frame sitting idly on his roof. 

He must have heard Tweek’s movements by now, surely, but Craig Tucker was hellbent on remaining as silent and impassive as he had to the world when they were kids. 

Craig had never been silent or impassive to Tweek, but he supposed that after leaving without a trace for forty eight hours, he somewhat deserved this treatment. 

Tweek climbed through the windowsill with sweaty palms and fingers that trembled if only a bit, swallowing against the urge to sputter. He turned his attention to the figure present at his left, but his eyes were trained adamantly to the sky. 

Tweek didn’t miss the twitch of his brow or the brief contortion of emotion that swiftly changed that ever so stoic expression. 

Craig had always tried to deny when he was upset, and it had never worked. 

Not even once. 

“‘Th-the best view of the sky in South Park’,” Tweek joined his partner in examining the twinkling dots and colors that illuminated the inky dark above them. “That’s what you used to say. That you never had a better place to look at stars unless you were in space,” 

“I only said that because if I was anywhere else I couldn’t look at them with you.” Craig’s words were choked, strained, bordering on the grey edge between bitter and longing. 

Tweek quirked a brow, “You couldn’t have looked at them with me in space!”

Craig had yet to redirect his gaze, and Tweek wondered if it was because they both knew that once he did, there’d be so much to explain. So much to say, and not enough patience for either of them to say it. 

Tweek remembered Craig’s anger as being cold. 

The heat of his words now were sweltering, quiet, and Tweek was burning in the shakiness of his whispers. 

“You were going to come with me.” Craig sighed, “I said that I’d take you to space one day,”

“Then let’s go,” 

Dark, tired eyes slowly swivelled towards him, and Tweek struggled not to avert his stare away from the grief within them. “Two days,” 

“Craig--”

“You were gone for two days. Everyone said that you were fine, but no one knew for sure, because God knows that everyone in this town is batshit fucking insane,”

“Please just listen--”

“The adults could have killed you. Something else could have killed you-- I don’t know. How would I have known?” Craig’s raised voice began to waver, “It’s always been us, ever since we were kids. I wouldn’t have followed you, I just wanted to know where you were,” 

“It was too m-much, man! God, I didn’t want you to find out like that. I didn’t want you to find out. I was doing better,” Tweek despised the break in his voice, “I haven’t really, nngh, stuttered so much in years. I’ve been able to cope, but it all just got thrown out, and I couldn’t--I couldn’t, I never wanted you to know!” 

“Tweek.” Craig shook his head, as if shaking away the excess of thoughts he didn’t want to share. “I don’t want you to think that I’d judge you for anything that happened. Hell, we’ve all done things that aren’t normal, and that aren’t okay, because we didn’t have any other choice,”

Tweek trembled, “It was my choice.” The guilt clawed at his throat, painful and heavy, forcing raw tears down his face. “And that’s the worst part,” 

Helplessly, pleadingly, Craig reached for his hand. “Talk to me,” 

And Tweek did, because since when could he have ever dreamed of denying him anything? 

There was something so strange about delving back into the accounts of his past. Knowledge that you carried with you, able to alter someone’s perception so drastically, able to keep you awake at night as you turned sleeplessly under the weight of what you couldn’t control. 

Tweek hadn’t known what they did to the coffee. 

His parents made it for him every morning. Their special brew, laced with meth, given as some form of medication for their freak, spaz son and his spaz emotions and unnatural jerks and yells. As he grew older, it became easier to control, whether it be from his regular trips to the counselor or the eventual workings of his parents’ initiative was currently unclear. Looking back, it made sense that Tweek’s constant desire to be caffeinated stemmed from something darker, the roots of unworthy parenthood. 

Upon the realization that Tweek had been abandoned, with no electricity to assist him in his liquid coping, he panicked. It wasn’t the type of normal discomfort one would get from, say, breaking an old habit or two. This was desperation, this was fire crawling at his skin screaming at him to do, to act, to find, to stop the cravings that sent him into nausea and forced himself to do things that were reckless, scatter brained, scary.

It was then that he found the meth after breaking open the safe that resided atop one of his shop’s counters. 

Tweek had always been told it was for emergency funds. 

And then it made sense. 

But Tweek had felt as though he had lost everything. He was going off the rails, betrayed by his missing father and barely present mother, left to fall into the clutches of paranoia and relapse, the urge to throw himself at the addiction he didn’t know he had. 

And Tweek did, because he was afraid, and he was angry, and at the time, he didn’t know what else to do. There was a fair amount in the safe, it kept him stabilized for the time being, and he was no longer crazed with useless, fuzzy minded ideas. 

But then his supply started to dwindle, and yet again, Tweek felt the familiar seize of pure panic grip at his heart like an icy stab of dread. 

Most noted his behavior as the kind of erraticism that came from sudden, unthinkable grief, much like the rest of them. 

But there was one figure who didn’t.

Kevin McCormick’s parents were notorious for many things. Being poor, being somewhat hick like, being in an unstable marriage, being generally looked down upon. 

But the incident that gained the most attention were the arrests made after it was discovered that there was a meth lab being run at the McCormick residence. 

Kevin knew what to look for, what the behaviors were, how it made someone vulnerable. How it made them dependent. 

He came to Tweek with an offer one day. 

“I don’t know where you got it from, but I know you have it. And by the way you’re acting, I can tell you’re running low,” 

He’d placed his hand along Tweek’s shoulder, said that they could help each other, all Tweek had to do was follow him into town. Kevin would take him to what he wanted, they had what they needed back at his house, hidden under the floors, he was certain of it. Tweek couldn’t think of the long term, couldn’t think, couldn’t bear it, because everything hurt.

So he went. 

Kevin McCormick had never been someone Tweek had paid much attention to, mainly because he was never close enough to Kenny to have ever been around the family, to have ever truly grasped any sort of hold on his person. If Tweek had been in a more stable frame of mind, maybe he would have picked up on his careless mannerisms, on the way he reflected little empathy, little support for what didn’t concern him. 

But it was just so hard to think when there was only one thing on Tweek’s mind. 

It hurt, it hurt too much for him to handle. 

So he put his trust into Kevin, unable to think critically, to adapt to the situation with logic or intuition. 

By the time they had neared the end of the street leading to their destination, it came to Tweek’s belated attention that there were two figures waiting for them. Kevin’s grip on his arm was painful and controlling, and suddenly the situation was clear. 

He was getting rid of a washed up hindrance. There were too many mouths to feed and not enough resources-- Kevin declared him useless, and the adults were just glad to be rid of a potential danger to their own future appetite. 

Jimbo and Ned aimed at him with ammo that hadn’t yet run out, expecting an easy kill, having not anticipated any sort of true conflict. 

Tweek couldn’t recall the thoughts that led to his struggle. Kevin was seemingly larger than him, stronger and towering over by a few inches, but when the shot rang loud and clear, Tweek jerked to his side with enough force to avoid it. 

Kevin McCormick, who had been keeping him rooted firmly in place, did not. 

And somehow, in the midst of crazed confusion, with Tweek running clumsily around, more bullets landed in places where they shouldn’t have gone. 

In their prime, perhaps Jimbo and Ned would have carried better aim. 

But, as they had proven time and time again, the older community of South Park was prone to the very madness that plagued their town to begin with. 

Ned ended up on the ground with a bloodied, painful knee, and Jimbo fled from the shock. 

Tweek should have ran. 

He should have, but he didn’t. 

Something snapped within him. He was angry, he was away from everything he cherished most, he was scared, and most importantly, he didn’t care about anything anymore. Consequences just didn’t seem real-- nothing did.

Kevin and Ned were killed with a heavy bludgeoning from a rock at the hands of a kid frenzied with grief and adrenaline. 

Ned would have survived his initial injury to the leg. 

Kevin, with his bloodied stomach and red lined lips, wouldn’t have.

Before Tweek had swung downwards and painted the pavement in scarlet chunks of meat and bone, Kevin McCormick had laughed.

Things moved quickly after that. Ned’s murder became a declaration of war, and everyone knew that something had to be done or else they would all end up as sad, bloody excuses for everything they had once lived for. 

The elementary school fire had led to enough deaths to allow for an excess of supplies. No more worrying about rations, about lost lives looming so heavily over their heads. 

They were feared, now. They wouldn’t be bothered. 

Tweek came from his withdrawal with the help of soothing words and comforts from one Token Black. 

He learned of the fire four days after it occurred. 

It was his fault. 

It was all his fault. A useless, stupid monster. He never wanted to think about how disappointed his missing friends would be if they ever saw what he had become. 

It took two years for Tweek to muster up enough forgiveness to visit his mother. 

She acted as though a day hadn’t gone by, and really, how could he hold blame against someone so obviously lost?

Time passed slowly, but Tweek tracked it still. 

And seeing Craig’s disbelieving eyes, so watery and wide, was enough for Tweek to presently wish that Kevin McCormick had succeeded in killing him.

Craig held him tightly, wordlessly, carding his fingers through Tweek’s unruly hair. And despite the emptiness that numbed him whenever he spoke of the incident, Tweek felt better, somehow. 

There were feather light kisses pressed into his hair, and Craig murmured soft, warm promises against his skin. 

He’d never be alone again. 

That night, Tweek strolled with Craig under the eyes of the stars they adored. Keeping his former word, Tweek showed his love his usual route for when he went into town. The middle school chalk boards lined with date markings and doodles, the back warehouse of Tweek’s shop and the memories he stored there, the front steps of Tweek’s house, worn and creaky, used only when he came to visit his mother. 

It wasn’t until they returned to Stark’s Pond that Tweek realized he had forgotten to show Craig his old, ratty chullo hat buried at the very bottom of one of many cardboard boxes. 

Oh, well. 

They had plenty of time, now. 

Tweek would show him later. 

For now, he managed to sleep, entangled comfortably against the person he loved most. 

And for what it was worth, Tweek had hope that they would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter was a harder one for me to get rolling, but I’m glad that it’s done! Hope everyone is staying safe, friendly reminder to my fellow Americans to donate and sign petitions for change! Black lives matter. 
> 
> Questions, critiques & feedback is always super appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Gore and death ahead!**
> 
> This was it. All of their years of wasted childhood culminating into this one moment, where Heidi finally realized that there was no happy ending, no better days ahead. There was only the quickening of her pulse as she readied herself for what was to come.

Bebe did her utmost best to recall the blurry faces and hazy figures that had tormented them so. But, much like the very select memories they choose to extinguish, there was nothing there. When she thought it for too long, or with too much difficulty, it made her head pound painfully against her temples. 

She wondered if that’s what Clyde felt like regularly. Though his pride wouldn’t let him admit it, Bebe knew that it wore him down. 

And really, of all the moments they could have taken from her, why leave the one that plagued her the most? 

The experimentation, initially, had just been physical. Testing their limits, accessing their attributes, cutting them open and peering at their insides before stitching it all back together. They each had their worst day, their worst experiment, the one that clung to them as a heaviness behind their eyes and an ache in their step. For Stan, it was being forced to stay afloat in a pool of water for hours, nearly drowning in the process. For Craig, it was the activity akin to electroshock therapy that left small scars along his scalp. 

For Bebe, it was the day she was forced to choose. 

Ike had already fallen victim to the process. A small room, two buttons, a screen-- something out of a horror movie. With the press of a button you controlled the fate of someone’s life. 

Bebe hadn’t been romantically involved with Clyde, at the time. Funnily enough, that came later, after they had been assigned as roommates throughout his recovery. Bebe hated the constant monitoring, the surveillance, knowing that they were examining every interaction with exploitation in mind, for the purpose of something sickening, something Bebe wished simply wouldn’t exist. 

But she hated that day more than anything. 

Nichole and Clyde were both suspended from heights that would leave them both fatally injured. 

They would have offed them both if Bebe had refused to choose. 

Clyde had somehow survived his fall with two broken legs, a fractured rib, and long lasting head trauma. 

When she saw him hit the ground, there had been so much blood that Bebe was positively sure that she had sentenced him to death.   
And of course their kidnappers had rearranged her room order to place them together, to observe how they interacted after the ordeal. 

Always watching. 

If you weren’t someone’s roommate, you simply didn’t see them. If you weren’t being experimented on, you were sitting in a bleak room either alone or with your cellmate. Bebe got used to the feeling of dread wondering whether or not her friends were alive, feeling relieved as stories of survival and reassurance were spread simply by word of mouth. 

But you never really knew who was alive until you saw them yourself. 

After all, a life could be taken in the blink of an eye. 

Sometimes, Bebe can’t help but feel as though Wendy and the other stranded don’t fully grasp the ordeals that they had endured. There was something that kept her from fully mentioning the specifics, save for small details and the scars visible along her limbs that she couldn’t hide--the same feeling that must have kept Tweek from relaying his truth to them for so long.

If you spoke it, it became so much more real than it had been before. 

And unlike Tweek, these details weren’t detrimental to their general state of wellbeing anymore. These stories, these incidents-- none of it could come into play anymore, right?

That was what Bebe hoped for, but a darker part of her questioned it. 

Bebe had gotten used to always being watched, to having every interaction be used against her. 

Always watching. 

Bebe didn’t want to think about it too much, but it didn’t sit well with her. 

Why would they suddenly let them return? What was the greater purpose, the meaning?

What were they missing? 

And if she could just recall who had taken them to begin with, would she finally understand? 

“You look so sad.” 

Heidi had returned with a small smile and a handful of apples, sitting happily at Bebe’s side, placing the fruit down in between them. The sun was covered by clouds, and moisture was heavy in the air. 

They were due for a rain soon, Heidi had said. 

Bebe continued to work through the knots of her curly hair with the brush she gripped so tightly it left indents in her palm, sighing. “I get caught up in the past, Heids,” 

Heidi smiled at her, knowingly, hazel eyes full of warmth and understanding. 

Eric didn’t deserve that smile. 

Eric didn’t deserve her. 

“Do you remember your eleventh birthday party?” 

Bebe snorted, setting her brush aside, choosing instead to take advantage of the afternoon snack that her dearest friend had provided. “How could I not? We were having an all girls sleepover until Wendy snuck Stan in, and then suddenly all the guys showed up to save him,” she rolled her eyes, “I can still hear my mom’s shrieks of horror when she walked in on Kenny in the bathroom,” 

Heidi giggled, and Bebe cherished the sound. 

Bebe wished she would laugh more. The tawny haired girl was so tense, riddled with worry and feeble smiles, all placation and small words of agreement. Cartman had changed, he wasn’t quite as troublesome as he had once been, but Bebe still wished that Heidi would simply let go of it all sometimes. 

She wanted her to feel free. 

Bebe could make her feel free. 

Heidi toyed with her hands, folding them in her lap as she spoke. “And once she found Kenny she pulled back the shower curtain to find Kyle and Token,” 

Bebe could feel the laughter beginning to bubble in her chest, “And after that Tweek fell out of the bathroom cabinet!” 

With watery eyes and cheeks flushed from laughter, Heidi continued, “Didn’t he throw toothpaste at her?” 

Nearly choking on her apple, Bebe could only nod, frantically attempting to convey the scene with the best acting she could muster. It was a good memory, despite it being one that had infuriated her at the time-- with all the wrath of a preteen who had been wronged, Bebe had thrown all of her unwanted guests out with half hearted swears of revenge and a general state of flustered curses. 

She still hadn’t forgiven Cartman and Craig for managing to swipe all their best snacks.

Heidi’s leg bumped against hers, tentative. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” 

Her voice was sweet, whispery, inviting. Bebe never wanted Heidi to stop talking, she could listen to her drone on about anything for hours at a time. Her words were addictive, sugar, molasses, honey. 

Bebe swallowed, “There’s been a lot to think about,”

“I think,” Heidi pulled her hair back behind her ear, “I think I’m going to have a talk with Eric later. About us,” 

Giddiness made Bebe’s head light. “Yeah?” She bit her lip, attempting to keep her smile of relief from breaking free so suddenly. 

“Yeah,” Heidi’s hair tickled Bebe’s nose, the weight of her head on the blonde’s shoulder was more than welcome. “I have to go soon. A group of us are going over by the tree line to get more wood,” 

“Don’t gooooo.” Bebe snaked her arms around Heidi’s waist, “I’ll miss you. Plus Clyde has been wanting to go on a friend-date with you, so you guys won’t be awkward around each other,” 

“He could come with me if he wants. We can always use extra hands,” Heidi squirmed away from Bebe’s grasp, albeit reluctantly. “Tweek’s coming too, he wants to stop by his shop for something of Craig’s, so Clyde will have fun,” 

“So I’ll see you later, right?” Bebe’s stare was imploring, “After you’ve talked to Cartman?” 

Heidi attempted to hide her nerves, but the way she teetered on her feet told more than she most likely would have preferred. “After I talk to Cartman,” 

Bebe kissed her hand, “It’s a date,” 

Heidi embraced her, warm and very much present, before departing with a small bounce in her step and a sense of contentness to her demeanor. 

Overhead, thunder began to rumble, hidden away in clouds of purple and blue. 

Bebe hoped they would make it back before the rain. 

There was something that had made her want to linger behind, if only for just a moment longer. It could have been the sluggish, humid atmosphere, or maybe the way Bebe’s curls had framed her face so nicely.

Whatever the cause may be, Heidi was determined to collect the excess wood as efficiently as possible. They could no longer stand to delay it-- the incoming storm would leak through their huts without the wood that they had been sent to obtain. There had been a small party that had chopped the wood the day prior, but had left due to a sudden rain, much like the one that was readily approaching. 

It would be quick. There were enough of them to only make one trip, every presence sporting a small bag made of cloth to stack the wood into. Their group was composed of people Heidi knew well, people she was confident would at least get the job done fast. Red walked happily at her side with Kevin in tow, leaving Clyde and Tweek to dwindle closer to the back. 

Tweek hadn’t been aware that Kevin would be accompanying them, but resolved to continue along their side, if only to retrieve something of Craig’s he had apparently forgotten back at his shop. 

Heidi had her suspicions that he mainly intended to stay so as to avoid sending any messages of weakness. 

Regardless, conversation was flowing relatively well. Heidi didn’t want to miss the opportunity to speak with Clyde more, so she purposefully slowed her speed, smiling as the brunette and his blonde companion caught up with her relaxed stride. 

“A little bird told me that you’re planning on talking to the big guy.” Heidi inwardly winced at the reminder of her ever looming future talk with Eric, but nodded to encourage Clyde to continue. “Do you think you’ll need backup? I could hang around, if you wanted,” 

“That’s alright, I know how to talk to him. He’ll understand, eventually,” Heidi waved off Clyde’s evident doubt, refocusing her attention onto Tweek’s noise of alarm. 

“Jesus, you really think he’ll understand? I bet he’ll accuse Bebe of witchcraft or something,” Clyde nudged his side, and Tweek suddenly seemed to reconsider as he grimaced, “Ah!-- but, I’m sure that everything will work out fine,”

“Right.” Heidi hoped her tone wasn’t any true indication of her thoughts on the matter, swallowing, “So, Tweek-- what are you getting from your shop?” 

At the mention of his side mission, Tweek’s eyes brightened, and there was a content bounce to his step. “Craig’s chullo hat! I thought that maybe if I compared it to his head now, I could try and make him a new one,” 

Heidi gasped, “Oh, Tweek, that’s adorable! I’m sure he’ll like that,” 

Red, who had evidently overheard that particular snippet of information, snorted. “Good luck getting anything around that giant head of his. He really did get my uncle’s genes, that’s for sure,” 

Clyde beamed, throwing a casual arm around Tweek’s shoulder, “Tweek, my man, if there’s anyone that can get around Craig’s head, it’s you.” 

He flushed at the comment, and seemed to be holding in a rebuttal about his taller companion’s head size, but the corner of his lips upturned regardless.

Their words seemed to reflect back at them, sound bouncing off of the trees that surrounded their frames. 

It was only then that Heidi noted how quiet it was. No birdsong, or general forest rustling-- just the occasional reminder that there was rain overhead. Was it because of the storm that everything was hiding? 

It was beginning to darken. The trees and shadows became more imposing, and a brief flurry of movement caught Heidi’s eye, if only for a moment. 

Their destination was close. 

Red and Clyde were conversing without much thought, pausing briefly so that Heidi could give her own input, before continuing amongst themselves. Kevin’s gaze was directed at his shoes, he kicked at rocks that crossed his path with mild disinterest. 

It was quiet. 

Somewhere, Heidi thought she heard a twig snap. 

Her stare glanced upon Tweek, who had gone silent, his light eyes wide as they surveyed the trees. He stopped, rigid, mouth slightly agape. 

And for a moment, he was the only one who had halted their movements. 

But then, Heidi heard a murmur. A muttering so faint, she quite nearly missed it. 

It sounded as though the forest was breathing. Alive with watching, leering gazes, releasing small movements, concealing malicious intent. 

Lightening struck overhead, signalling the downfall of rain as droplets of water pattered the earth below their feet. 

Heidi followed Tweek’s eyes, and her stomach plummeted. 

Eyes. 

The forest had eyes. 

Tweek jerked, “Jesus, brace yourselves--!”

Hunched forms camouflaged by mud and soil broke free from the undergrove that hid them, a confusing mess of limbs and sudden movement. 

A hard impact to her side sent Heidi reeling to the ground, her nails scratching at any exposed skin she could find, her grasp wrestling desperately against the hands that reached for her face. 

“You little bastards really thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?” A familiar voice, haughty with madness and tainted with insanity, familiar in that dangerous way that made Heidi screw her eyes shut with dread. 

Jimbo, and several others.

Heidi’s fist collided with solid skin, and she scampered backwards, stopped against the rigidity of a fallen tree. 

“We found the Stotch residence like there had been a damn massacre! And you-- you fuckin’ devil spawns did it, didn’t you?” 

To her right, Red screamed. 

Heidi turned her head to the direction of her friend’s fright, and felt terror seize her chest. 

Kevin Stoley, with blood on his hands and bruises along his face, was being held up by his hair, entangled within the clutches of a hardened hand, neck bared and exposed. He thrashed violently, held in place by the body of a looming frame, pushing down roughly against his legs. 

There was the fatal glint of metal, and the choked, gurgling shriek of Kevin Stoley as a knife tore through his throat. His hands twitched desperately, he groaned, he shook, until his assailants dropped his wreathing, dying, bloody form to the forest floor. 

Heidi felt another sharp blow to the side of her face. She struggled to stand, knocked off balance by hit after hit, meeting the ground with a painful, trembling wheeze. 

Her attacker could have fatally struck her by now, surely. 

But then, it seemed that they were enjoying this. 

She felt blood dripping down her cheek, and Heidi forced her weight forward, her limbs becoming entangled with the presence that slashed at her so. Heidi bit down at the hand that clung to her face, tasting iron as blood met her tongue. 

They dropped their blade, and Heidi felt nothing as she embedded the weapon deep within their chest. 

Jerking the bloody knife out of her victim, she turned, joining Red in the struggle against a female swinging a shovel, the woman growling as the metal made contact with Red’s stomach. 

Heidi dodged a falling body, a male with a gored, caved head, unseeing bulging eyes that had attempted to take on Tweek’s enraged, bloodthirsty bat. 

The blonde was grunting, shoving, shattering ribs and hands, whatever he made contact with. Clyde covered his sides, using his broad frame to his advantage, throwing right hooks and tackles wherever he could manage. 

Clyde had his attacker pinned, defenseless, ready to end their assault for good. 

He hesitated. 

And suddenly he was thrown back, a strained cry leaving parted lips as a nasty, red wound was ripped along his front. 

Tweek swivelled, his gaze dropping between his own fight and the bat that was gripped with white, shaky hands. 

And with steely resolve, he chucked the metal with all his strength, effectively hitting his target and allowing Clyde to grasp the weapon himself as he finished the job. 

“This is for Ned,” 

Jimbo held a thick chunk of wood sharpened to a point, blood and mud smeared along his face and shirt, loose flesh hanging from his wounds and fingernails. Tweek ducked under his initial attack, moving swiftly to aim for his legs, going under and headbutting upwards, he snarled. 

But as Jimbo was sent backwards, his grip surged forward, and the spear pierced Tweek through as the years of hate between them, and flowed out as scarlet flowers and the sudden inhale of air as Tweek’s lithe frame hit the churned soil beneath his feet. 

Heidi screamed, fighting against her watery eyes and trembling hands as she heaved a rock towards Tweek’s tormentor, sickened by the sound that was made as it connected with his knee.

Heidi jumped over Kevin’s frame, tearing her sight away from the exposed insides of his throat as she readied her weapon for defense. A man lurched into her line of sight, a former neighbor, a face that she knew would haunt her dreams as she slashed the blade into his eye, before pulling away, leaving the man to writhe and shriek along the ground. 

Red used her machete to cut down another one of their attackers, enraged and sloppy with grief, a red fountain met her hands as she planted her blade deep into a brunette woman’s skull. 

She tripped over the very corpse she had created, and a figure from behind pinned her face into the dirt. Heidi sprinted towards her friend, but was pulled back by the loose locks of her hair and thrown roughly to the ground. 

Heidi struggled to see around the frame that blocked her vision, but once she did, she felt a raw, grievous screech tear itself from her throat. 

Red’s neck was bent and positioned unnaturally, snapped, her mouth foaming and eyes bloodshot. 

These were her friends. 

This was her family. 

She remembered Red’s face as the one she had seen at Halloween parties and school Christmas dinners, with snide remarks and blunt criticisms. She remembered Kevin Stoley as a face that she had never truly focused on, but one that was ever present, always around, always there. 

They were pale and lifeless. They had saliva clinging to their lips and tears stuck to their cheeks. 

“Hey, what do you think you’ll be when you grow up?” Red had asked her once, on the swingset in fifth grade. 

Heidi had hummed, “I don’t know, yet,”

“That’s okay, me either. But it’s fine,” 

Red had smiled. 

“We have plenty of time to figure it out,” 

Heidi fell to her knees. 

She could see the shadow moving in front of her, could feel the screams and sobs tearing from her lips. 

This was it. All of their years of wasted childhood culminating into this one moment, where Heidi finally realized that there was no happy ending, no better days ahead. There was only the quickening of her pulse as she readied herself for what was to come. 

She heard the gut wrenching, mind numbing sound of her arm breaking as it was crushed beneath her own weight, twisting unnaturally, jarring her senses as she fell limp against the man that was going to end her life. 

Blood spattered against her as the man fell victim to blunt force. 

Clyde heaved, bat in hand, “What the hell are you doing!” his mouth fell open in a bone chilling cry, “Get the fuck out of here! Go!” 

He reached down to carry Tweek, whose impalement was leaking out onto them both and staining everything within sight a bloody, stark hue of gore and disbelief. 

Heidi didn’t turn back as she fled. 

Tripping over her feet and crashing down to the forest floor, she released a broken cry as she was met with cuts and the jostling of her injured arm. She could hear someone behind her, breathing heavily with the desire for her blood. 

Dirt was in her mouth, sweat and blood blurred her vision. 

Heidi’s raw hand gripped her knife still. 

She swung it, releasing all of her horror, her shock, into a guttural shriek, pushing her assailant back as they collapsed. 

She didn’t know what direction she was running in. She had no sense of where she was, where she was going-- the agony was setting in; her head, her arm, the gashes at her sides. There were spots in her vision, and she was only vaguely aware of her pleas for help echoing back as eerie screams of the forest. 

Heidi fell to her knees, bracing for impact as she collided roughly into a heap of dirt, succumbing to the strangled howl she released as she landed atop her arm. 

She laid flat on her back and stared up, unable to see past the colors and flashes that dotted her sight. 

Heidi allowed her eyelids to flutter closed. 

When she opened her eyes, she was in the fourth grade again. 

Eric sat in front of her, unimpressed; yelling something with a tone that she had grown accustomed to, but the words were jumbled and incoherent. 

“I can’t understand you, Eric,” 

His words grew louder, ringing throughout her head and pounding her skull. 

“I can’t understand! I’m sorry!” 

She was screaming. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand! I don’t!” 

“Don’t be sorry,” 

Heidi looked up to see blonde curls and a round face staring down at her. 

“Bebe, I don’t know what to do,” 

She was breathing, barely, lurching gasps punctuating her every word. “I can’t--Bebe, I can’t understand--”

Bebe smiled sweetly. “You don’t have to understand. After all,” 

Heidi blinked, and suddenly Red was before her, all slackened and blue, neck contorted as blood poured from her lips. 

“We have plenty of time to figure it out,” 

The scenery melted away, as Heidi reached out with desperation, attempting to catch everyone’s disappearing frames into her hands. 

And then all she had was the darkness. 

Clyde blinked against the merciless pelting of rain flattening his hair to his face, breathing hard, rushing as hastily as he could manage, nearly losing his balance on loose rocks and twigs. 

Tweek’s shallow inhales and shaky whimpers were practically all Clyde could focus on despite the raging clapping of thunder drowning his screams for help. 

He didn’t know the forest as well as he once had. In the dim light of storm and flashes of lightning, it all looked the same. It was near maddening, he couldn’t think, his head felt as if it was going to burst. 

Clyde had to keep going. Tweek needed him-- his face was sheet white, lips trembling, eyes beginning to unfocus. He had attempted to speak several times, but Clyde told him to stay quiet and save his breath, knowing fully well that in his current condition the blonde didn’t know his directions any better than Clyde did. 

“ _We need help_!” His voice was cracking from the strain of his yells, “Help! God, _fuck_ \-- we’re running out of time!” Tweek’s warm blood covered them both, and Clyde was still unable to look the ugly, splintered wound straight on. 

It was bad, and Clyde’s own injuries were starting to hinder his adrenaline fueled speed. 

“Clyde?” There was a familiarity to that concerned voice, struggling to keep afloat over the wind that whipped against them. 

Clyde could have sobbed-- in fact, there was a chance he had. “Stan-- Stan! It’s bad, it’s really bad--” 

“Dude, I could have sworn I heard you-- Oh, God,” Stan neared them both, and with wide eyes, he swallowed. “Let me help, man, put his other arm over my shoulder,” 

“How far are we from camp?” Clyde was panicking, it was all too much. 

Stan’s expression was far from comforting. “Just barely outside of it. Okay, relax, relax. It’ll be okay, Tweek, you’re fine,” 

Tweek groaned in response, and Clyde thought that he may have seen his friend shake his head in protest. 

“You’ll be okay, buddy,” Clyde’s eyes were stinging, and his head, God, his head was the last thing he wanted to focus on, but it was so hard to stay fixated against the pain. 

The first person who greeted them was Wendy. 

“What the hell happened?” She covered her mouth, practically shoving both males aside to lay Tweek on the ground. “Where is everyone else?” 

Clyde’s mouth felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. “Red and Kevin are dead,” 

Wendy froze, “No, no-- that can’t be right--”

“They came out of nowhere! We didn’t-- we couldn’t, we _tried_ \--” Clyde fought against the urge to vomit, an urge that Stan seemed to have already fallen victim to.

Wendy brushed Tweek’s hair back, murmuring something to Stan as she examined Tweek’s abdomen with a grim expression. “What about Heidi?” Stan offered a brief glance back before he hurried off. 

His words felt useless, heavy. “I-- I don’t know, shit, she ran, but I-- I don’t know where she is,” 

Clyde jerked at the sudden scream that cut through the rain. 

Karen wailed, clinging fearfully to Tricia’s side, the latter of which couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the spectacle. At the noise, Ike and Kenny both seemed to appear, as Kenny tried in vain to pry the two girls away from the gruesome display. 

Kyle, who had seemingly apparated at the mere mention of something going horribly awry, knelt down across from Wendy with obvious dread. 

While some of the stick had been dislodged, most was still firmly embedded, thick and splintering out into the rest of the wound. Tweek’s rattling breaths were increasing, his voice low and pained, “Is it...ngh, bad?” 

Kyle and Wendy exchanged a worrying look, and Clyde felt his stomach sink further. 

“Just try to stay calm, alright? Stan went to get Token, since he keeps our first aid kit with him.” Clyde wanted to bite out a scathing remark about how little some bandages could actually help, but judging by his clouded grimace, this was a fact the fiery redhead was already well aware of. 

He and Wendy both-- they were just offering feeble assurances to save face. Tweek was bleeding, everywhere, covering the soil in ugly red and all they had to offer was a first aid kit. 

Clyde knew that it wasn’t their fault. Logically, he knew that he should have been the one comforting such a good friend. 

But Clyde was unable to get the words to form, and could only choke back his cries. 

“Where the fuck is he?” 

Oh. 

Clyde whipped around. 

No, that wasn’t good, he couldn’t see this, it was going to hurt him so badly, this wasn’t a memory he needed, wait, just wait--

Craig pushed him out of the way, and dropped to his knees. 

Token jogged forward, huffing, Stan towing behind him like a kicked dog, “Craig, hold on, I don’t know if…” his sentence was cut short as Token finally laid eyes upon the blonde’s ever worsening state. Somewhere behind him, Kenny had managed to remove Karen and Tricia away from the scene. 

Craig stared down with horror, stunned. “Tweek,” 

The blonde’s shaky hand reached for his. “Sorry, Craig,”

Craig’s knuckles were white, and Clyde could feel him trembling. “Why would you be sorry?” He inhaled sharply, eyes trailing to the source of the blood that pooled around them, “We’ll fix it,” 

Token gently nudged Wendy to the side, pausing to fully expose the injury, and then biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Token,” Craig’s voice wavered, “Do something,” 

“Craig, I…” Token shook his head, and Clyde just knew that he was fighting off tears. 

Craig spoke more urgently, increasing his volume, “Token, _do something_ ,” 

Token buried his face into his hands. 

“I don’t think I can, Craig,” 

“No.” Craig spat, “What the fuck do you mean, you can’t? Are you serious?” Craig swivelled around, “Why are you all just sitting there?” 

Clyde attempted to lay a hand on his shoulder, but his grasp was slapped away. 

Wendy cleared her throat, “Craig--” 

“ _Someone needs to fucking do something_!” Craig shouted, desperate, “Why can’t anyone do anything? Why are any of you even here if there’s nothing you can do?” 

Tweek reached for him, tugging feebly on Craig’s sleeve. 

The stony expression that Clyde knew so well crumbled into agony. Craig brought Tweek’s hand to his cheek, pressing their foreheads together, he murmured, “It’s okay, Tweek. We’ll be okay,” 

“Craig,” Tweek’s expression contorted, “I don’t want to die,” 

“You’re not dying.” Craig was incredulous, near manic, “You’re okay,” 

“I’m not,” Tweek whispered. 

Craig was back to shouting. “We need to help him,” 

Tweek whimpered, clutching onto Craig’s hand as if it would somehow save him. 

“If we remove the stick it’ll make him bleed more.” Kyle spoke fast, hurried, casting uneasy glances to the injury, “We could risk making it worse. And even if we did get it all out, there’s still a good chance that some splinters would be left behind, and it’d get infected,” 

Craig stared at him, hollow. “What are you saying?” 

Kyle stood, motioning for Craig to follow, “Why don’t we go--” 

“I’m not fucking _leaving him like this_!” Craig snapped, with reddened eyes and a tortured expression, he turned his attention back down to the boy sprawled out before them. 

Clyde attempted to catch Craig’s attention, “Craig, maybe we should--” 

“Fuck off. Fuck you,” Craig fought against his tears of panic, kissing the knuckles of Tweek’s bloodied hand. “Tell me what I need to do,”

Tweek scrunched his face in pain, “It hurts,” 

“I know.” Craig’s watery gasps were worsening, “Tell me what I need to do, Tweek, please,” 

“Just stop.” Tweek shook his head, sentence breaking, “Just stop it,”

“He wants it to stop, Craig,” Wendy closed her eyes, and Clyde silently steeled himself for what was coming.

“Then we’ll make it fucking stop.” Craig’s anger was venomous, “We’ll make it stop and he’ll be fine,” 

Token sent a small, stricken look Clyde’s way. 

It was too difficult to accept that this is what it has come to. 

Casting one last look of goodbye Tweek’s way, Clyde sighed. 

For someone who was so notorious for his tears, Clyde couldn’t seem to find the will to summon them. 

He was empty, somehow. And he knew that years from how he’d regret not memorizing his friend’s final moments, and yet--

He couldn’t conjure the strength to see Tweek like that. Small, cornered--

Dying. 

Tweek was dying, and there was nothing they could do except grant him his wish for the pain to cease. 

Craig lamented in the pause that flitted over their small group. Disbelieving, his words fell hushed. “No,” he searched Clyde’s gaze, “No, you guys-- you’re fucking kidding,” 

Token attempted to appease him, “We don’t know how long he’ll be in pain for, Craig--”

“You can’t just give up on him!” Craig’s hands made their way to his hair, lingering there, resembling the phantoms of Tweek’s youth, “None of you ever fucking cared about him the way I do. None of you ever fucking understood!” 

Clyde gritted his teeth against his racing heart, “Come with me, buddy--” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Craig shuddered, directing his anguish to his bloodied lover, “Tweek, honey, please, don’t go. Please don’t go, don’t let them think that’s what you want,”

Tweek’s eyes were unfocused, his breathing ragged. 

Craig cupped his face, smearing blood along his cheeks, “Stay with me-- Tweek, you have to stay with me,” 

Craig heaved, “I can’t do this without you,” 

With a feeble, shivering hand, Tweek brought Craig closer. He cried, gentle,“I’m sorry, Craig,” 

Craig lowered his head. 

“I want it to stop--Craig,” Tweek pleaded, repeating the tall brunet’s name over and over, mouthing it against his neck, clinging to his frame, struggling not to release his hold despite his weakening strength. 

There was a light touch on his shoulder. 

Turning, Clyde glimpsed the expression within Stan’s eyes, and knew what had to be done. 

Tweek didn’t deserve to suffer. 

They couldn’t save him. 

Clyde wanted to cry. 

Instead he positioned himself on the other side of Craig’s figure, while Stan offered a small nod. 

They grabbed Craig roughly, dragging him back by his thrashing limbs, prying him free of Tweek’s outstretched grasp. 

Token smiled down sadly at his blonde, youthful companion, and removed a small knife from its leather sheath. 

There was something tragic in the noise Craig released. It was wretched, guttural, brimming with anguish. He fought animalistically against Clyde and Stan’s grip, freeing himself after several rough hits and deliberate, tormented blows. 

Craig had readied himself to tear Token away, but suddenly stopped short. 

Tweek’s eyes were unfocused, nearly rolling back into his head. His cries were small, his mouth agape and leaking scarlet, body twitching and blue. 

He was murmuring Craig’s name, to the best of his ability, shaking and afraid. 

Craig kissed him, and buried his face within the remnants of the shirt that hung from Tweek’s torso. 

There was crimson along Craig’s lips.

Clyde knew that the gesture was all the acceptance they were going to get from Craig’s leering, haunted form. 

Token seemed to understand, and wiped away the tears streaking his face so as to focus his vision. 

Clyde heard the approaching sound of small thuds, and turned to see Jimmy’s hastened pace along his crutches. Together, they scooted closer, hovering, silently observing the moments before it would all be over. 

All of their years together had come to this. 

Clyde closed his eyes.

He could never look back at them knowing it would lead to this.

With a quick jab to the neck, a final stream of bright red poured onto the ground, as Tweek offered a shudder, a gasp, and then fell still. 

Craig draped himself over Tweek’s body, and screamed. 

Clyde’s legs buckled beneath him. 

He used to think that he was lucky to have lived through what he had.

Clyde had been wrong. 

There was no pain like this that was worth living for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m...very sorry. 
> 
> But things aren’t as hopeless as they seem! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Comments are always welcome. I’m posting this with the next chapter I wrote as a treat/apology ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Descriptions of drowning and violence ahead!*
> 
> But there, in that moment, all he could see was Tweek’s terrified expression before he died, compared to the face that had led to his end. 
> 
> He dropped the weight in his arms, and swung.

There was something about being so critically useless that was driving him insane. 

This dark, grim atmosphere was suffocating. It was more than appropriate, given the circumstances, but Stan felt frustrated by the sense that there was nothing that could truly be done to remedy anything at all. 

They had found Heidi a few ways off, her arm bent and twisted in a way that was deemed completely unable to be fixed in any shape or form. 

Wendy had performed the amputation, and now Heidi was in recovery from the trauma of both the injury and the events that had led to it.

Several hours had passed before the journey had been made to retrieve Red and Kevin’s bodies. There had been a long winded open discussion, on whether or not the risk was worth it, but once it was announced that Tweek was going to receive a proper burial, it just wouldn’t have been right if they didn’t get the same treatment. 

Stan could still feel Kevin’s cold skin against his fingers, and shuddered. 

Craig and Cartman had come with, the former intending to carry his lost cousin and see the battle sight that had claimed his love with his own eyes. 

No one had possessed the will to refuse, though he had certainly been advised against it. 

Craig insisted it was for closure, but there was a part of Stan that just wasn’t so sure. 

The only good thing to come out of the situation, aside from Heidi’s survival, was the notion that four other bodies lay present from their friends’ fight-- there was some justice in that, at least. 

Except, someone was missing. 

Stan’s uncle, despite his wounds, had managed to escape.

When they came upon the scene and Jimbo’s corpse was missing, Stan thought that Craig might just have a breakdown right there. 

He had clenched his fists, kicked a tree, and yelled profanities until his voice fell hoarse. Then, silent, tense with grief, he cradled Red in his arms, and they left. 

The three fallen were buried along the same small bank where the eldest McCormick brother was laid to rest. Fresh clothes and cleaned faces, with flowers fixed around their bodies and into their hair, the lifeless faces of kids Stan had known since he was a toddler were left to rot beneath the soil. 

It was a strange thing. 

When he was still captured, all Stan wanted was the chance to go back. During their imprisonment, their experiments, the hours he spent staring at metal walls-- all he could do was conjure the feelings and memories he had shared before it all went so terribly wrong. And that was the worst part of it, being unable to know just where, exactly, it had all been ruined. Being forced out of his own head, unsure if his own head was even really his anymore. 

They had been too wishful, too naive to have ever truly believed that being allowed to return was any sort of blessing. Were they just done, was this it? Was it suddenly over, now?

Stan didn’t think so, but he wanted to hope. Just this once, he wanted to have hope without it being taken from him. 

His family was gone, so these kids-- they were all he had. 

But even here, they were still being stolen away. 

And there was nothing to be done. No way to think back on the memories that were lost, no way to recollect the missing pieces that would make it fall into place. 

Stan’s eyes strayed to the wall that surrounded their town. 

He tried to avoid looking at it, really. It was an eyesore, it was painful-- running several feet deep through the earth, there was no escape. 

Even if he remembered, there was no escape. 

He wondered what he could have possibly done in a past life to deserve this. 

Since the burial, it seemed as though everyone was mainly keeping to themselves, for the most part. Aside from the occasional check in, they were divided into small groups. Bebe stayed by Heidi’s side, refusing to stray, and much to Stan’s surprise, there didn’t seem to be much resistment on Cartman’s behalf. 

It was almost disheartening, to have not heard any scathing remarks or bitter comments being tossed raucously about. 

Tricia and Karen were devastated by Red and Tweek’s death, Tricia and her brother both losing two of their loves ones in such an awful way was too much. Stan’s family was assumed dead, seeing as he hadn’t seen them since his capture, but he didn’t really know for certain. To have seen Tweek and Red as they had been recovered, and in Tweek’s case, still alive as he said goodbye, was one of the most difficult things Stan had been witness to.

For them, he couldn’t imagine.

There was a soft whisper floating about that Kyle and Wendy wanted to keep quiet for the most part, the details of why it all had happened. 

The part where it was an act of revenge on behalf of Leo’s dead parents. They didn’t need any finger pointing, and knowing Butters, the news would be far from productive. He had just begun to recover from the incident, he shouldn’t need to shoulder this burden for a situation that had escalated out of his control. 

For now, things were still. No questions were being asked-- they were exhausted, no one was sleeping, they were vigilant and scared. 

Stan wondered if Heidi would really be able to keep the motive to herself, but he supposed only time could tell. 

He wished that life wasn’t as difficult as it was. 

It was dark out. 

Stan was hovering by the edge of the lake, still within eyesight of his own hut. He sat down across from the newly churned soil, decorated with woven flowers and twigs, marking the site of those they lad lost. 

“Marsh?” 

An unexpected, and admittedly annoyed Craig stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Sunken eyes and a piercing stare, he radiated a kind of apathetic misery, one that was prone to sudden bursts of raw emotion before hours of sheer disinterest. 

Stan had gotten to know the giant before him during their imprisonment. He was still difficult for someone as naturally emotional as Stan to fully understand, but they carried mutual respect for one another. Stan considered them to be friends, as he did with many of the others. 

He had never faced too much difficulty making conversation with Craig, but things were different now, and Stan just didn’t know what to say. 

“Uh-- hey, dude. I was just-- I mean, I can leave if you need some time,” 

Craig sighed, lowering himself to the ground with a kind of pained reluctance. “It feels like I didn’t get to say everything I needed to,” 

Stan nodded, throat dry. “Right, yeah,” 

He stood to leave, but Craig cleared his throat. “You can stay,” 

“Are you sure?”

“It’s not like I own the place.” Craig snorted bitterly, sparing an unimpressed glance before rolling his eyes, “I’m not going to bite, contrary to popular belief,” 

Stan wasn’t sure how to reply, so he simply did as his taller counterpart advised, attempting to swallow back his nerves. 

“I’m kind of pissed off at you,” 

Stan frowned, “Look, dude, I said that I could leave--” 

“Not about that.” Craig’s stare was trained strictly ahead, his usual nasal monotone replaced with something more tired, more resigned. “I’m jealous. You have two people that love you, that you can still be with,” 

Oh, shit. 

Stan was used to Craig’s blunt honesty, but this sudden streak of vulnerability was uncharted territory. It was, admittedly, a thought that Stan hadn’t pondered-- there were more romantic relations aside from his, and though he had somewhat toned down his skinship with Kyle and Wendy whenever Craig was within eyeshot, he hadn’t made the full connection. 

“It’s not completely the same, I know. But, still,” Stan opened his mouth to apologize, but Craig scoffed, “Don’t say sorry. It’s not like it’s your fault,” he pulled his knees to his chest, face falling, “I’m just-- I’m pissed. At everything. So I felt like telling you,” 

“Right.” Stan could empathise with that, definitely. Craig was never the best with communicating his feelings using words. 

Just when Stan felt as though they were on even footing, Craig hit him with yet another curveball. 

“I never told him.” 

Stan felt like he had missed something. “What?”

“That I loved him.” Craig leaned back on his palms, legs extending, just brushing the edge of Tweek’s grave. “I never said it to him, even when he was dying right in front of me. I couldn’t say it,” 

Stan heard the tremor in Craig’s voice, and felt a pang of shared sadness spread through his chest. “The last time I said it to Red was when we were kids. I hardly ever say it to Tricia,”

“They know that you loved them.” Stan flinched at having to use the word ‘loved’, if only because it was yet another reminder that nothing would ever really be the same. 

Craig’s frustration was growing, “That’s not the point. The point is that I didn’t _say_ it. Even when Tweek needed me most, I--” 

His explanation was choked, and Stan placed a hesitant hand along Craig’s quivering shoulder. 

Stan frowned, “There wasn’t anything you could have done for him,” 

“There was, that’s what I’m trying to tell you, you fucking--” Craig inhaled sharply, pulling away from Stan’s touch. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be a dick,” 

“I know,” Stan thought that he was more than entitled to being dick right now, to be completely honest. Though, he thought against voicing this aloud. 

With a long exhale, Craig continued, massaging his temples as he spoke. “The point is, I regret not saying it to the people I care about. And since you still-- since you still have your. Threeway--whatever it is,” his hands were out as he gesticulated, as if it would somehow compensate and form the words he needed, “Just. Don’t take it for granted,” 

Stan felt something inside of him wither at the thought of Kyle or Wendy facing the kind of torture that the three bodies in front of him had, and his skin broke out into chills. “I won’t,” 

“Good.” Craig stretched his legs, rubbing large palms over his face before kicking a rock out of his path. 

“You’re going?” Stan felt out of place, somehow. As though the right wasn’t his, as if he didn’t deserve to be the one to remain. 

Craig shrugged, struggling to come off as less affected than he was, “I only came to tell them I was sorry.” His eyes darkened, “And I wanted to do this, too, since both Kevins can both go fuck themselves.” He summoned a wad of spit, aiming at a broken cross made of sticks and Kevin Stoley’s grave, before flipping them off. 

Stan thought it tacky to not only speak ill of the dead, but to also make the effort to quite literally spit on their graves, but seeing as he wasn’t the fondest of either Kevin, he let it slide without offering much protest. 

“You know that we’re all here for you, right?” Stan scratched his neck, “I know it sounds, like, stupid, but it’s true,” 

Craig didn’t look back as he slowly made his retreat, “Thanks. But to be honest, I think I’d rather just handle this alone right now,” 

Stan just knew that Red and Tweek would be exasperated at that. It was certainly a very Craig sentiment for him to share.

Stan was worried, but he let him go. “Alright,” 

He could only hope that Craig’s idea of accepting his grief wasn’t full blown isolationism. 

Stan turned back to the burials, awkward. “Right. So, I don’t really know if I believe in God or Heaven or whatever, but I’d thought I’d say some stuff, just to-- I dunno, to get some closure,” 

He felt insane. 

“Oh, uh. Tweek, sorry if I just cockblocked you from beyond the grave. Craig probably wanted to see you alone. Ah, but, you wouldn’t have been alone, since Red, Kevin and--” Stan paused, “...And Kevin, are here,” 

He cleared his throat. “Well. I didn’t know you guys the best, but. You didn’t deserve this, and I hope that wherever you are, things are good.” 

Stan felt himself bristle at the sight of Kevin McCormick’s cross. 

“Except you, dude. You were way more of an asshole than the other Kevin, I hope Tweek kicks in you the balls or something,” 

Deciding that he should end his talk on a more positive note, Stan offered a small wave, “So see you guys later, I guess? Maybe?” Sighing, he gathered himself off the ground and made his way back to the small stretches of tents and huts across the pond. 

It didn’t feel like it was enough. 

Stan wasn’t sure if anything would have been enough to compensate for their horrible deaths, though. 

For the last couple of years, Stan had been incredibly cynical about religion and God. It hurt to think that any sort of higher power would let these awful things happen to anyone, much less genuinely good people. 

But for the first time in a long time, he hoped that there was at least something. 

Stan wanted to believe that he would see them again. 

Kenny knew that he couldn’t hold off on it much longer. There were things he needed to do, people he wanted to see. 

It had been awhile since he’d paid a trip to Hell. 

But, he had to form a thorough plan that would end in his certain demise-- if he failed and was discovered, there would be too much explaining, he’d never get a minute to himself again. 

Knife in hand, Kenny twirled the dagger delicately between his fingers, before shoving the non lethal end deep into the dirt. He walked back a few feet, before placing a heavy rock in his path of soon travel. 

With a running start, Kenny braced himself against the pain, and, inspired by his incident at the pond a few days prior, came to a stuttering halt as his foot connected with the boulder. 

The blade grazed his chest, snagging on his shirt and tearing open a shallow wound before coming up and out of the ground entirely. 

Picking himself up and dusting off his palms, Kenny frowned. 

He would need another plan. 

His eyes fell upon the boulder that just couldn’t seem to get the job done. 

This time, it would work. 

Kenny slunk back to their camp, cringing at the noise of leaves and twigs crunching beneath his feet as he let himself into one of their two storage buildings. Upon seeing what he had been in search of, he grinned. 

The rope was sturdy in his hand, rubbing his fingers raw as he tied it around the stone that would soon seal his fate. The other end was looped around his ankle, tight and constricting. 

Lifting the rock and carrying it into the freezing depths of the pond was easily the hardest part. Kenny struggled to swim to the deepest spot, before dropping the weight in his arms and being tugged ungraciously under. 

The water that came surging into his mouth and down his throat was biting, numbing as his limbs naturally fought against the icy water pulling him downward, against the horrid burning of his lungs and the watery, open mouthed gasps met with pure suffocation. 

It scorched his insides, his vision was bleary, and his hands couldn’t stop jerking. Air, he was losing air, he needed this to happen but it hurt so much--

He could feel himself slipping. 

When he finally regained his senses after what couldn’t have been more than a few short minutes that felt eternally longer, there was solid, warm ground against his cheek. 

Kenny jumped forward and off of his back, coughing against the water that was no longer plaguing him. His hands flew to his throat, and he breathed deeply, shakily. 

The sky was open and dark. Distant fires and hues of various reds painted his surroundings, with whimsical buildings and a new tropical theme, courtesy to Damien’s influence, Kenny felt a stab of recognition, and forced himself to stand on wobbly legs. 

The son of Satan himself was both exactly what one would expect, and the complete opposite. Because while Damien would certainly allow for the torturing of certain souls where he saw fit, the underworld as a whole had been somewhat reconstructed in recent years under the new heir. Seeing as Mormons were the only ones who made it beyond the pearly gates, the constant influx of new hellish inhabitants was far too much for Damien to keep up with, much less punish over measle wrongdoings. 

For the most part, he had grown from the grim, bitter little hellspawn that had once walked along South Park’s sidewalks with utter hatred. 

Still, he was grumpy and indignant towards the existence of humanity as a whole-- or so he claimed. It was difficult to tell, sometimes. 

Kenny knew the process. Normally, he’d just wander about until his body respawned, which varied in time length. He didn’t often run into the new ruler of Hell, but when he did, he was greeted with a sigh, a scold, and then sent peevishly back into the mortal realm. 

There were some days when Kenny begged him not to. 

Damien said that most humans took their mortality for granted, but the curse was beyond his power to simply undo-- it was the work of his Father, after all, and it would be out of his prerogative to go against Satan’s rulings, however unjustified they may have been. 

Kenny wished his parents had never affiliated with the occult, especially for free beer, but, well. 

There was nothing he could do about it, now. 

Familiar enough with the process of checking oneself into Hell, Kenny strolled up to the looming gothic tower ahead of him, one that seemed to stretch up into the dark grey clouds dotting the sky. 

When he pushed the door open, some mellow elevator music was playing, highlighting the surprisingly tame, somewhat amicable atmosphere. The room was complete with small arrows and lines, requesting patience for the process of initial signing in before a soul’s stay. 

There were posters of palm trees and different activities for spirits to do for now until the end of time, making it reflect more of a rest stop than a final destination. 

A head of shoulder length blonde hair entered from a back room prohibited from the general public, blue eyes scanning the crowd of the departed before landing on Kenny, and offering a wide smile. 

Pip placed a hand on his shoulder, “Tally ho, Kenneth! It certainly has been quite a minute since you’ve seen us last,”

Pip’s British accent was somehow stronger than Kenny remembered. 

During his trips to the afterlife, Pip always seemed to be overseeing the general run of things, like some kind of supervisor. Damien, during his brief time among South Park’s living world, hadn’t made much effort to tolerate the kid. 

But, well, it seemed that after Pip’s death, something had changed. Kenny had never asked what, or why, exactly-- it wasn’t any of his business, and he much preferred to deal with the heir’s British counterpart than Damien himself. 

Sometimes he forgot what Pip had looked like when they were younger-- he was one of few souls who were granted the ability to age after death, courtesy to Damien’s power. Still, his peppy, sometimes frustratingly positive demeanor remained solid, even in Hell. 

“You wouldn’t believe my surprise when I saw your name pop up onto this here list! It really is so kind of you to stop by,” Pip gestured to the ever changing names listed on the parchment he held, entitled, ‘Souls of The Damned’. “It’s a good thing I’ve told our workers to let me know whenever they see you, otherwise I may have forgotten to say hello!” 

The so called ‘workers’ consisted of the demons that had been put out of work since the overall abolishment of the Hell torture industry. Kenny supposed they were adjusting as well as they could-- forcing people to wait in long lines for hours at a time was torturous enough, he guessed. 

“I’m kind of here on personal business, if I’m being honest,” Kenny thought that Pip really must have already known this, but hoped that the words would be enough to spur the blonde into action. 

Pip nodded understandingly, “It truly is a shame that your friends met their end, isn’t it? And in such a dreadful way!” He sighed, “I was a bit disappointed when I saw that it wasn’t anyone from your little group, though,” 

Ah, right. 

There was one thing that had changed about Pip. 

Damien’s righteous belief of vengeance had instilled something within the once too forgiving British doormat, and he now held the strong desire to reunite with Kyle, Stan, and Cartman-- his three most prominent childhood teasers, in their afterlife. 

Kenny wasn’t too worried. Pip wouldn’t hurt them, he just wanted to give them a bit of a shock. 

That’s what Kenny hoped, anyway. 

“Right.” Kenny chuckled nervously, “So, do you think you could take me to them? I don’t want to stay here for too long,” 

Pip gestured for Kenny to follow, whistling as they emerged through a door with a bright red ‘employees only’ sign, climbing up a dark stairwell illuminated with torches until they reached the very top. 

A heavy metal door glinted at them in the dim light, foreboding. 

“I wasn’t quite sure where to put them-- this place is just so big, I wouldn’t have wanted you to be unable to find your friends when you visited!” Pip pulled out a jangly set of keys, putting them into a keylock and opening the door, “Though, I don’t think they were quite happy about being stuck here,” 

Kenny followed Pip’s lead, inwardly sighing at the realization that Pip had imprisoned his former friends against their will. 

The only bright side was that Kenny knew this room. 

It housed a large screen, observing the living realm, able to be changed to observe whatever the viewer wished. Pip had requested it, apparently, and Damien had reluctantly complied. 

It was more of a personal office space, with British flags and a vast collection of Hell’s finest tea brews. If it had been any other occasion, and Kenny had just been talked into staying for a bit, he would have been more than happy to have been invited beyond the metal door. 

Right now, though, his veins were thrumming with apprehension. 

Indignant voices met his ears, as Pip pushed him forward still, before clicking the door shut behind Kenny’s clumsy form. 

He turned around, pulling on the handle, which stayed firmly locked in place. 

“Nice of you to join us,” 

Kenny swivelled, blinking at Red’s sudden appearance. Her arms were folded, unimpressed, hair shorter, more vibrant, ram like horns growing from either sides of her head. She examined her freshly polished nails, “Must be nice to be able to come for a little visit,” 

Kenny swallowed thickly, straying away from her penetrating stare. Kevin Stoley was laying on a sofa, seemingly bored, red markings painting his skin as he watched with mild interest. 

Tweek hovered off the carpet, legs replaced with that of an animal, small wings flapping with anxiety, his devil’s tail swishing back and forth in agitation. Small, crimson nubs emerged from his wild mane of hair. He clutched a presumably caffeinated beverage as if it were a life line. 

“Nice legs.” Kenny grinned, “I didn’t think you’d become an imp, but it suits you, Tweekers,”

Before Kenny could have even blinked, Tweek’s furiously flapping wings had crossed the length of the room. His face was flushed, and he scowled, “I’m stuck like this for the rest of eternity! Do you have any idea what that’s like? When Craig gets here one day, do you think he’ll want to see me like _this?_ ” 

“I’ve told you, Tweek, Craig won’t care what you look like. He might be even worse for all we know,” Red shared a look with Kenny, as if asking if he could even _believe_ what he was hearing. 

“What if he finds someone else while I’m down here!” 

From his relaxed position, Kevin snorted, “I doubt that,”

Tweek flinched, “He could convert to Mormonism! Oh God, what then?” 

To be completely honest, this wasn’t how Kenny pictured this conversation going at all. 

Tweek gasped suddenly, dropping his cup to the floor. Rather than spilling, however, it simply drifted back to a small table off to the side. His eyes matched his little horns, but Kenny thought it better to refrain from making the observation verbal. 

“You knew everything!” Tweek pointed an accusatory finger into the center of Kenny’s chest, wings flying him higher still, “You have to tell everyone when you get back. I can’t believe you!” 

“Woah, wait a second.” Kenny’s hands fell to his sides, and his somewhat lighthearted approach began to dissipate. “I came here to help you deal with the shock of dying. And I get that you’re upset, but me telling everyone what I know won’t solve anything,” 

“They’re going to die there, Kenny. Just like we did,” Red was distracted by Tweek’s sudden influx of yells, seeing as he had flew just a bit too high and was now unsure of how to get back down. She increased her volume to keep herself heard, “It’s not too late for them, you know. It’s not too late for you, either,” 

Tweek seemed to have figured out how to stop his fluttering, bat like wings, and plummeted to the floor. 

Behind his palm, Kevin snickered. 

Tweek strode the length of the room once more, and Kenny was frankly unused to the blonde’s new height advantage. 

He glanced downwards. 

It must be the feet. 

Tweek blanched, “Don’t try to look at my-- my parts, Kenny!” 

“Oh, whoops,” Kenny held out his hands in surrender, “That’s not what I was doing, I swear, I’m not really into beastiality--” 

Tweek scowled at him. 

Kenny’s words became hurried, “But I’m sure Craig might be! He’s a total freak like that, you know--” 

Rolling his eyes, Kevin Stoley swiftly left his place on the sofa and joined their small accumulation in front of the door. “You know, since _we’re_ permanently dead, we have-- what is it? Oh, right, omnipresent knowledge over our lives.” He crossed his arms, “So, we know everything you do-- maybe more than you, actually, about what happened to us,” 

Kevin shrugged, “So what Red is trying to say is that, no one else is going to know until they die, unless you tell them before that happens,”

“I could never convince them if they don’t already remember,” 

Red’s eyes narrowed, “You might jog their memory! You won’t know until you try,” 

“Then they’ll try to put themselves in danger by going against our circumstances, and it won’t work.” Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, if you guys are okay and don’t have any questions, then I think I need to go ahead and blast, I have some other business here--” 

“Put themselves in danger?” Tweek hissed, “What, do you think that they’re all safe? You don’t think that Karen, or Butters, or anyone else is going to die just like we did?” 

Kenny snapped his head upwards, “I won’t let anything happen to them.” 

Red frowned, “You’ll never be able to guarantee that,” her face fell from assertive to something more pleading. “Don’t you want more for them? To give them a real chance?” 

Kenny threw up his hands. “I’ll try. But I can’t promise anything,”

Red smiled, “Well, at least we have time to figure out a game plan, we can fill you in on some things you probably don’t kno--” 

The metal door slammed open, the echo of the impact startling Kenny out of skin as a familiar voice greeted his ears. 

“I believe that’s my cue.” 

Pale skin and dark hair, Damien strolled into the room easily, suit patterned with checkered flowers and complete with a coconut tie. 

He was really pushing the new tropical theme. 

Damien’s stoic features fell into a sort of thin line, as he adjusted the satin gloves covering his hands, “Can’t have you interfering with the lives of the mortal, Kenneth. Knowledge from beyond stays here,” glowering, he slowly moved out of the doorframe, “McCormick stays. The rest of you are free to enjoy your damnation,” 

Kevin left without another glance, Red following gloomily in tow, shooting Kenny one last look of goodbye, before descending the stairs. 

Tweek tottered a bit on his new legs, and seemed embarrassed to be fumbling as much as he was. “Tell Craig that I love him, too,” he muttered, attempting to hide his grief despite the drooping of his wings and tail. 

There were gears turning his Kenny’s head. 

He refused to avert his gaze from Damien’s piercing eyes as he spoke, “If I can pull this off, you’ll be able to tell him yourself,” 

Tweek opened his mouth to question further, but with the snap of Damien’s fingers, the metal door shut once again, sealing them from the outside. 

Damien’s brow twitched, “Do not make promises you cannot keep,” 

Kenny placed his hands along the back of his head, “Tweek would crawl out of here if he had to, I can promise you that,” 

Damien scoffed, “I am here to inform you of your brother’s whereabouts, now that you have been made aware of his demise,” 

“You should have told me,” 

“I do not interfere with living affairs when there is nothing to gain.” 

Kenny didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “So if there’s something to gain, you will?” 

There was a brief moment of silence, as Satan’s son seemed to contemplate his words. With a distrusting frown, he drawled, “What could you possibly offer?” 

“You get your power from deals. I can get you more,” 

“My power is plenty without your assistance.” Damien waved him off, but the door behind them hadn’t yet opened.

He was listening. 

“Give me a chance. I’ll summon you back on Earth, and then you can make the deals yourself,” 

Damien’s eyes glinted, “You’re relying on your living companions. I have no reason to assume they wouldn’t just waste my time,” 

“I’m going to be straight with you, Damien. Which, given your obvious gayness, may be hard for you--” 

Damien waved his arm, and a small corner table shattered against the wall. 

Kenny continued, “I don’t think we can do this without you. Get out of this, I mean.” He cleared his throat, “If I can take care of the ritual, then I’ll let everyone else do the rest,” 

His lack of outright refusal was enough for Kenny to know that he was intrigued. “What are your terms, McCormick?” 

Kenny thought back to Red’s pleas, her insistence that they could live a better life. 

He thought of Karen getting to go out into the real world, maybe getting an education, somehow. 

He would make this work-- he had to. 

“When I summon you, you give us our memories back. In exchange, when I finally die of old age, I’ll be bound by contract to do your bidding,” 

This could be anything from the torment of the absolute worst souls, those whom Damien insisted deserved punishment-- to an eternity of filing paperwork and working Hell’s numerous, weirdly touristy attractions, maybe even being sent back to Earth to wreak havoc on mortals. 

Kenny’s plan was to form this contract, seal his fate, and then let everything else fall into place after Damien had been summoned. Once they all recalled what had happened, everyone would understand why Kenny had decided against filling them in-- their situation was hopeless with them alone. 

But by then, they would have seen the power that came with forming a deal with the devil. 

Maybe they could find a way out, for the right price. 

“You’ll need a human sacrifice to summon me, rather than just some animal’s blood for a lowly devil. You do understand this,” Damien’s stance was relaxed, bordering on pleased with the direction this was going in. If he played his cards right, he’d have the irking mortals from his youth doing his chores for the rest of time. Kenny was betting on this line of thought, was betting on just about everything except logic, really. 

“Yeah.” Kenny’s throat was dry, but something told him that wouldn’t be as bad as he anticipated. 

After all, there was still some justice that hadn’t yet been served. 

Damien removed his right glove, and held out his hand. 

With a deep, troubled breath, Kenny accepted the grip that was extended to him. Bright lights and searing, warm colors danced around him, until it all faded, and all that was left was Damien’s wicked smirk. 

The door creaked open, slowly this time, and Kenny didn’t have to be told to take his leave. 

“He’s agreed to speak with you himself. Use the back exit,” Damien’s words cut through the jumbled thoughts of Kenny’s brain. 

“Thanks,” 

“Try not to come back for awhile, Kenneth. I truly don’t enjoy the chaos you bring,” 

It was the closest Damien would come to saying that he wished Kenny would be careful. 

Kenny offered a salute, before taking every step down with baited breath. Conflicted feelings welled up within his chest, as he excused himself by numerous lines in the downstairs lobby, until he found the flickering exit sign through the back storage room. 

Kenny pulled, roughly, expression stony as he exited out of the tower, greeted by the various dark shades and rocky terrain that Hell consisted of. 

He was sitting, facing Kenny with a blank look, his feet hanging off from the ridge he sat upon. 

It was strange. 

Kenny was older than him, now. Kevin had died at sixteen-- it felt strange to see his soul be younger than Kenny’s own. 

This was his older brother. 

Kenny gathered his resolve, and approached the small ledge with anticipation. 

This was a moment he had been waiting for.

He kicked Kevin in the balls. 

The reaction was immediate, his brother doubled over, “Jesus, fuck, Kenny, that’s the second fucking time in like twenty minutes, the fucking meth head did the same damn thing,”

Kenny pulled him up by the front of his shirt, examining his brother’s now pupiless eyes, the McCormick signature freckles dotting his cheeks. 

He moved his fist back, readying to slam Kevin with all of the force, all of the pain that he deserved. 

Dirty blonde hair covered his face, and he smiled, smug, as if daring Kenny to prove his point. 

He was older than the last time Kenny had seen him, before he was taken. But gazing upon him now, he somehow still seemed so young. 

Kenny dropped him, grasp recoiling. “You’re fucking sick, you know that?” 

“We were running low on supplies. Your little spaz friend wasn’t exactly helpful,” 

“You don’t get to decide who dies.” Kenny was trembling. 

Kevin sneered, “Oh, but he does? Funny how you still make nice with him after he killed your brother,” 

“Karen needed you.” 

“She’s doing fine,” 

“ _I_ needed you.”

All of those painful instances, where his father was livid and inebriated, and his mother was deranged and just as drunk, the memories where he held Karen tightly to his chest, he and his little Karebear against the world, came to him, leaving Kenny breathless. 

When Kevin was around, he teased her, bullied her, knocked her around until one day Kenny snapped and slammed him to the wall. 

Smart remarks and mean comments, disassociating from his siblings when they needed him most. 

Kevin McCormick had never been a model person. He was selfish, cruel, and sometimes completely unintelligent. 

But beyond that, he was Kenny’s brother. 

And Kenny hated him for it. 

He was beginning to grow lightheaded. 

Kenny stared down at his hands, edges of translucence starting to consume him. He was fading back in, fading back to the living world. 

“Good luck.” Kevin pointedly looked away, “You’ve always been a better little bastard than me. Hope shit goes your way,” 

“You’d love it if it didn’t,” 

Kevin smiled, “Then don’t give me the satisfaction.” 

He wouldn’t. 

When Kenny awoke, he was on the edge of Stark’s Pond, hair just the slightest bit damp. 

And just like that, he was back. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Craig loathed himself for letting it happen. 

Firstly, for allowing himself to even grow so fond for the second time, to have even had enough faith to consider that the universe would have mercy this time around, that he wouldn’t lose everything, not again, not after they were finally okay. 

Secondly, for not having been there. He could have prevented it, could have fought, could have died in Tweek’s place, and he couldn’t help but wish that he _had_. All for his hat, his stupid, raggedy, ugly thing that never even made it back. 

Thirdly, for not having pressed Tweek for more of his theories when they were initially reunited. Five years to the day, he had said, five years exactly. This wasn’t coincidence, it was bigger, it had always been bigger than them but Craig just hadn’t wanted to think about anything other than what was right in front of him, then.

But Tweek wasn’t right in front of him, anymore. 

And it wasn’t fair. 

Even with Tricia, who understood more than anyone, he still felt so hollow. Like his chest was collapsing, but never quite fully sunken in, stuck in a limbo of eternal yearning, stuck in between the desire to feel nothing and everything all at once, the urge to punish himself and everyone around him. 

Craig hated hearing laughter, Tweek would never laugh again. 

Craig hated sleeping, Tweek would never wake up again. 

Craig hated. It was the only thing he was sure of anymore, his hatred, his thirst for vengeance. He dreamt of skin under his fingers, of blood coating his hands. 

Maybe he was losing himself, but that was fine. 

He had already lost Tweek. 

How much of himself was there truly left to lose? 

In Craig’s tent, it was dark. Sunlight didn’t penetrate through the closed entrance, and hours passed as he sat silhouetted in dark. 

“Uh, hey buddy, it’s me. Can I come in?” Clyde’s voice was somehow faint, despite Craig knowing that he was just outside. 

When Craig didn’t respond, Clyde tried again, “I have some food for you. Wouldn’t want you to starve,” 

Craig wouldn’t mind if he did, but held his tongue so as to not inform his closest friend as such. He could hear murmuring, and it somehow only soured him further, knowing that his grief had become some sort of event. Some sort of problem to solve. 

The small whispers grew louder, until the curtain of blankets Craig had taped up against the flap so as to enforce all encompassing night was yanked downwards. Fiery hair and familiar eyes stared at him, harsh, and Craig hadn’t fully braced himself for the volume of his sister’s voice. 

Any lingering faces, Clyde included, had retreated. 

“So what? Is this your plan, Craig? You’re just going to die in here?” Tricia seethed, her face skinner than he remembered. 

Craig didn’t have enough energy to bite out any sort of response. He looked upon his sister, whose anger was explosive despite her obvious fight against the urge to crumble. Tricia felt distant, like she wasn’t really there, with tears streaking down her face and her hands clenched into fists. 

“You have to take care of yourself.” She wiped her nose with her sleeve, spitting, “Tweek wouldn’t have wanted you to--” 

“Don’t.” Craig’s reply was hoarser than he had been expecting. 

Tricia, too, seemed startled, somehow. As if she forgot her resolve from before, her shoulders fell, and her features twisted into a more child like sense of sadness. “What?” 

“Don’t say his name. I don’t want to hear it anymore.” Craig buried his face into his palms, “It’s bright, put the blankets back,” 

Tricia stared, “You… don’t want--” 

A harsh impact along Craig’s face sent him sprawling back, as Tricia attempted to rake him with her nails, her aim clumsy with rage as she screamed, “What is _wrong_ with you! How can you say that about him? I thought you loved him! I thought you loved Red, she was our family! _What are you doing in here_?” 

Tricia’s sudden scream must have alerted everyone nearby, as she was pulled back by familiar dark arms, Token’s gaze filled with the kind of sympathy that made Craig’s stomach drop all over again. His sister fought against his grasp, shrieking, before eventually falling limp into his arms, yells quieting into feeble whimpers. 

Craig moved to touch his face, and it was only then that he realized it was wet with tears. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before Craig eventually exited his shelter. 

Kyle and Jimmy were speaking to one another nearby, the former politely averting his eyes as if it would placate Craig’s sense of unfiltered wretchedness. Next to him, Jimmy observed, hovering, as if waiting for his friend to approach, hoping to summon him with his gaze. 

Cartman ogled at him openly, and Wendy looked up from her sewing, offering a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Karen was next to her, meek, attempting to hide her watching behind uneven bangs, and failing. 

Craig went to the only place he had been making the effort to go to as of late. 

The soil was still freshly upturned, though it had settled, compacted into something more solid. One day, maybe a hundred years from now, would someone else find these bodies? Would Craig be there too? 

Or would he be the last of anyone left, dying with no one to bury his remains? 

Craig settled down across from the earth, and tore up grass with his fingers. 

He felt restless, haunted by memories past and the feeling of Tweek’s blood on his face, the last life filled whispers before his eyes were unseeing and his body fell cold. 

When he heard someone clear their throat behind him, Craig felt that familiar, all encompassing frustration bubbling up from the ugliest parts of himself. 

He whipped around, eyes narrowed into a menacing, wounded glare, as if to plead to at least to be left alone while he was visiting the graves, before being cut short. 

“Jimbo.” Kenny said, blankly, “We should kill him,” 

And for a moment Craig wondered if this was another one of his dreams. 

“You… want to kill Jimbo.” He rasped, disbelieving, his grip laxening against the weeds he clutched. 

Kenny’s face was pressed into a serious line, lips thin, “Yeah,” 

Craig couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. The topic had been tiptoed around-- the notion of revenge. It was their policy, the golden rule dating back to the elementary school fire that they had tried so hard to bury deep. 

But with the sudden death of three, it was somehow acknowledged that, at least for now, it was too dangerous. 

It had sent Craig into a rage. Too dangerous? They had committed arson, burned living people, but somehow he was the one getting weary looks? They were afraid of what _he_ would do? 

It was better to lay low so they could think of a plan, they had said. It was different before, they were outnumbered. 

Craig knew what they were really saying, though. 

This time, they didn’t have to interfere. Not everyone was in immediate danger, they had time. They had time to wait, and think, and ponder, and be so blissfully unaware of what it felt like to realize that everything was gone. 

The three bodies in the dirt ahead of him didn’t have that time anymore. They didn’t get the option to wait, to turn away from what they didn’t want to deal with.

“Why?” It was the only response that Craig could muster. 

Kenny hoisted the shovel he was carrying over his shoulder, “Because he’ll probably do it again. And it seems like he’s the adults sense of leadership, they’ll fall apart without him,” 

Craig could feel his heartbeat quickening. “What’s your plan?” 

“We need someone who knows their area better than we do. Ideally anyone who stayed here, otherwise we may just end up wandering--” 

There was the sound of something heavy hitting the forest floor a few feet away. Craig’s gaze snapped upwards, and Kenny jumped as he whipped around to face Tricia dusting off her knees from the fall, apparently having been sitting idly in a tree just a few moments prior. 

“Tricia.” Craig hissed, “What are you doing--” 

“I followed you here, obviously.” She set her shoulders back, “I can help you,” 

Craig jerked to his feet, “No, you can’t,” 

“I know this place better than you do,” 

“I don’t _care_ , Tricia, you’re not coming with us,” 

“You just never care, do you Craig?” Tricia poked his chest roughly, “Not until it’s too late. Not until I end up dead too, right?” 

“What the hell are you saying?” Hurt, Craig stepped back. 

“You haven’t talked to me in days.” Tricia’s eyes began to water, a sight that was becoming far too familiar. “I thought-- I thought we were supposed to help each other. But you won’t let me, and--” 

She didn’t have to finish. 

_And you haven’t even tried_.

Shame, hot and painful, rippled as Craig’s pulse hammering beneath his skin. 

God.

What had he been doing? 

He didn’t have Red. He didn’t have Tweek. 

Tricia refused to meet his imploring gaze, hotheaded and stubborn, a Tucker by blood. 

He had been so lost in himself, in what he didn’t have anymore. 

But he still had his sister. 

Craig hadn’t meant for this to happen. 

But unlike the people he missed most, Craig still had time. 

And he would make it count. 

Craig brought her against his chest, embracing in a silent apology, a classic move between them both, an understanding that it wouldn’t happen again, not like this. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled against the top of her head, “--but you’re still not coming,”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Craig readied himself for a spitfire of insults, before Kenny interrupted. 

“She doesn’t have to come to help out.” The blonde rubbed his chin in thought, “If Tricia can give us a good idea of where Jimbo is and cover our asses while we’re gone, then this whole thing will be a lot easier,” 

Placated, but still unsatisfied, Trica sighed. “All the adults hang around town, but I’m pretty sure Jimbo is always by his old gun shop. That’s what would make the most sense, anyway,” she crossed her arms, “If you follow the treeline east then you’ll be able to start seeing into town, and you can figure out if the coast is clear from there, but do me a favor,” 

Craig nodded, signalling for Tricia to break her pause. 

She smiled weakly, “Just--come back, and make sure that the fucker is dead before you do.” 

They set off briskly come nightfall. 

Craig had gone back to his reclusion throughout the day, so as to not arouse any sudden suspicion at his change in determination. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it. Without leadership, the adults would be left vulnerable-- maybe they would just collapse in on themselves, and Craig could finally try and lay at least the most painful part of Tweek’s death to rest, the fact that his killer was still alive and breathing. 

Come dusk everyone usually settled around a small campfire, a menial thing that had become habit out of the comfort that was gained from simply being around one another. Even with those you usually didn’t speak with during the day, come the dark sky and stars, they would become your best friend. 

Craig hadn’t ever taken part, since it had only ever really begun after the burials, and he felt as though it was born out of fear, felt as though it wasn’t fair that three of them would never get to experience it. Though, he supposed that his usual absence made it less conspicuous that he was gone.

Kenny had managed to slink away and meet Craig by the treeline, Tricia instilling the alibi that he was going back to the lake to attempt to sway her taller, older brother at least one more time that day. 

It was all in place, and Craig’s fingers were twitching against his palm, anxious, anticipating. 

Kenny’s shovel dragged on the ground, and his eyes strayed to the still stained bat Craig gripped with white knuckles. 

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to clean it. 

They traversed through undergrowth, feet catching on roots and rocks they couldn’t see, stumbling blindly in the dark until finally, they stood before a small clearing that led to the broken, worn buildings where their target hopefully slept. 

It hadn’t been long before when Craig had stood here, watching Tweek skirt in and out of eyesight, skillfully, much more skillfully than either he or Kenny could ever dream of. 

But even with Tweek’s adaption to his life, it had still been cut short. 

A painful spasm of sorrowful affection choked Craig’s breath.

Kenny spared him a careful glance, “You still up for this?” 

In lieu of a reply Craig wasn’t sure he’d be able to provide, he simply brushed through the last line of bushes separating unspoken territory, the soles of his shoes met asphalt roughly, and he stopped. 

He could feel Kenny’s eyes on him, uneasy, tense. 

They continued forward, listening for any other sounds in the eerie quiet aside from the footfalls of their unsteady feet, until they met the busted windows of Jimbo’s old shop with heavy breaths. 

There was a shadow of a man, familiar in that kind of vague way that sent chills breaking across the exposed parts of Craig’s skin. Even in the faint glow of moonlight, it was easy to see the man’s now contorted legs. 

He climbed through the window first, snags of sharp glass scraping his clothes and cutting his face. Craig felt blood drip down his cheek. 

With trembling hands, Craig lifted the bat high above his head, unable to hear anything aside from the rushing of his pulse reverberating in his skull. 

There was a sudden pull on his wrist. 

Confused, Craig turned his head to his shorter companion, who whispered, “The bat will make too much noise if you hit the floor. Just knock his head enough to keep him unconscious so we can take him out somewhere else,” 

“Somewhere else.” It was a question, stated blankly. Craig was growing impatient, and couldn’t see the logic in trying to wrestle Jimbo’s body out of the area. 

Kenny nodded, “We can’t take them all on if they hear the impact, right? Just trust me on this,” 

Craig liked Kenny, he really did. Out of all his past roommates and temporary confidants during their imprisonment, he had been one of the easiest to get along with. They were close, bonded by both experience and trust, and Craig had never chosen to doubt him despite the seemingly carefree persona he displayed in times past.

And so, against his own increasing thirst for blood, he obliged with a swift blow that only elicited a brief groan from their target. 

Lifting him up by Jimbo’s twisted feet, Kenny motioned for Craig to maintain hold on his upper body, before a lithe foot kicked down the door to the old, dusty shop. 

Craig scowled, “I thought you didn’t want anyone to catch us.” 

“If we get out of here fast enough then they won’t.” Kenny moved forward, albeit clumsily, both of them nearly losing their old on the body in their grasp several times before they eventually met the forest line once again. 

Panting, Craig wanted to question, to say that they were far enough, but Kenny continued onward over his attempts. He was determined, he had a destination in mind, and Craig nearly dropped Jimbo altogether when he saw where, exactly, the blonde planned on finishing their act.

A circle drawn in dirt, complete with symbol in the center, haphazardly created, messy and uneven. 

At any other point in time, Craig would have openly demanded an answer.

But there, in that moment, all he could see was Tweek’s terrified expression before he died, compared to the face that had led to his end. 

He dropped the weight in his arms, and swung. 

Craig felt hot wetness spatter across his face and arms, mixing with the dirtied tears and strangled cries he released as Jimbo became nothing more than muddled blood and muscle. 

And then there was light. 

Red, blinding, a void of power that sent Craig reeling backwards onto his knees. 

Blinking, he staggered, jerking his head up to meet red eyes and a startlingly pale complexion. 

Kenny spoke behind Craig’s stunned quiet, unimpressed. “Was that spectacle enough for you?” 

The boy, with inky black hair smoothened down to his shoulders, offered a near semblance of a smirk, and Craig felt a glimpse of nostalgia rush through him. 

The son of Satan. 

“Now.” Damien straightened his posture, the circle around him glowing bright with blood, “Let’s begin,” 

A predatory smile stretched across his features, “Unlike me, you don’t have forever,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be all the updates for today! The next chapter is in the works, feedback is always very appreciated! Thank you for reading <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle hadn’t thought about hope for a long time.

Stan was spending the night tonight. 

That’s what Kyle had told Ike this morning, anyway. His mother had sent them off with homemade lunches--the kind stuffed with organic alternative food that their friends teased them for, before waiting impatiently at the bus stop for the day ahead. 

Kyle and his friends were big. 

Not in _that_ way, (with the exception of one Eric Cartman), but in the way that they were always part of something. Something great. 

South Park was a town that seemed to exceed normality; chalked full of weirdos and strange occurrences, and Kyle was somehow always right in the center of it. He wasn’t fearless, but he carried with him the kind of sturdiness that prevailed through whatever their town threw at him, and Ike admired him for it. 

The bus stop was cold that morning. 

Cartman was snickering behind his hand about the holes in Kenny’s tennis shoes, revealing bare toes without socks. “Your parents can’t even afford socks, huh, Kinny.” 

Kenny’s retort was muffled behind his parka, and Ike didn’t understand him all that well, but Kyle and Stan did, much like they always had, and the boys broke off their own conversation from the force of their laughter. 

“Aye! Don’t talk about my mom that way,” Cartman flushed. 

“Don’t dish what you can’t take, fat boy.” Stan grinned despite himself. 

Kyle watched him, smiling. 

The bus arrived, and they all piled on without so much as another word. 

It was a quiet morning. 

The day passed briskly. Ike had a spelling test that he aced. 

His teachers praised him for being so smart, but it didn’t matter so much to Ike. 

Kyle was smart, too. But Kyle had something greater than Ike did, something that Ike couldn’t put his finger on. 

When Ike walked in through the front door that afternoon, the warmth of his house hugged the chill bumps along his skin. His mother was making lasagna, remembering how much Stan had liked it the last time he stayed. 

“Dude, have you finished it yet?” Stan shrugged off his jacket and hung it along the clothing rack that sat idly by the front window. 

Kyle blinked, dropping his school bag by the kitchen table, “Finished what?” 

“That dumb essay for history.” 

“Oh, crap, I completely forgot!” 

“Well you boys had better get that done before you start having too much fun, now.” Mrs. Broflovski’s updo moved with her words, her tone bordering on that dangerous kind of motherly disapproval, a warning. 

Kyle shot Stan a silent, exasperated glance, “We will, Mom.” 

They moved towards the steps, and Ike trailed behind, before being halted by his elder brother. “Ike, can’t you stay with Mom for a bit? Stan and I want to play games you’re not old enough to play yet,” 

Before Ike could answer, his mother took it upon herself to do so. “Come help me with supper, bubby. Once the boys have finished their homework--” she cast a look towards Kyle, “--and _then_ played a bit you kids can watch a movie down here.” 

Ike wanted to be like Kyle.

Maybe it was those games they played, that made Kyle the way he was. The way Ike wanted to be. 

What did he want to be? He still didn’t know. 

It was later that night, long after dark, while they watched movies and told goofy jokes that Ike thought about the subject once more. 

What was it about Kyle, his brother? What was it that Ike wanted? 

Somehow, in the midst of things, a sharpie had been passed about. Ike drew silly images along the freckles that dotted Kyle’s pale skin, giggling at the absurd depictions of mutant animals and all around random designs. 

There was a crash, and then the glow of the television blacked out, suddenly. 

It sounded like there was screaming coming from the streets. 

Ike stiffened, and next to him Stan jerked at the noise. 

Kyle moved from his place off the couch, slow. Cautious, as if him going too quickly would bring the noise closer. “Uh-- mom. Mom and Dad, I’ll get them.” He was struggling to keep the wavering of his voice under control. 

“Dude,” Stan swallowed, “What’s going on? That doesn’t sound good,” 

“We’ll be fine.” Kyle’s voice was further away, as he ascended the staircase. “Must be a robbery from down the block, or something. We’re fine,” 

Ike’s eyes strayed to the window, where the curtain eclipsed most of the outside view. 

There were flashing lights outside of their house, blinding. 

Ike’s breath hitched, “Kyle--” 

The sound of deafening impact left Ike speechless as the top of their house was sent reeling, leaving the rooms open, exposed. 

Kyle fell back from his place on the steps with a shout, staring wide eyed as large metal and harsh lights encased them. 

Ike covered his eyes with his hands, squinting, shaking against the screams of his parents. He searched for them, hoping they were near, and felt his heart stutter when he realized they were in the clutches of light. 

They were being taken. 

“No.” Kyle murmured the word, “No, that’s-- that’s not real. It’s not, it can’t be.” He swivelled his head, “Stan, do you see this?” 

Stan didn’t reply. 

Kyle spoke again, “Stan--!” 

Their dark headed friend stared, mouth agape, face twisted with terror. “Kyle,” he whispered. “Kyle, I think it’s coming closer,” 

They couldn’t run. 

Their limbs were frozen. 

The light outstretched itself, and they scooted back, too slow, too horrified. 

Stan released some kind of yell, before Ike saw the shadow of his outline, slumped, being carried away. 

Kyle screamed, but covered his mouth with his hand. 

“Ike.” Kyle grabbed his arm, “Ike, go. It’ll be alright, just--” 

“Go where?” Ike cried. 

Kyle’s grip was painful, “Just go. Just--” he threw the hallway lamp towards the light, trembling. 

Ike was swaying on his feet. 

“Hey,” Kyle’s words started out meek, “Hey! You can’t do this!” 

Ike pulled on his shirt, silently pleading. 

“Let them go! You can’t take them!” The shock was beginning to wear away, it was only desperation, now. Kyle screamed, “ _You can’t take them away!_ ” 

His brother was sent spiralling back into the debris of their fallen roof, curled hair fanning out across his face as he landed.

But Kyle was invincible, wasn’t he? He would stand up again, he’d find a way to get them back. 

His brother lifted his head, stricken, and moved to crawl with the rest of his strength towards the place where Ike stood, petrified. 

“You,” Kyle heaved, “You can’t--” 

Ike felt his feet leave the floor. 

He lost his breath, and outstretching his hand for his brother, Ike sobbed. 

Kyle stood on shaky feet, only to collapse once more. His mouth was moving, and Ike could hear his screams, but somehow, the words simply couldn’t register. 

As Ike drifted, and drifted, Kyle never once stopped moving. He never once stopped yelling, or struggling, or trying to save his brother. 

Ike realized then, what it was, that quality he wanted to embody so badly. 

Kyle persevered. He never stopped, Kyle always found a way.  
Ike had hoped he’d find a way, then. 

It was the last thing he had thought before losing consciousness. 

When he awoke, he was in a bare walled room of metal, next to one Stanley Marsh, whose head was buried in his hands. 

“The government won’t let aliens take us.” Ike said the words with more confidence than he meant, but perhaps that was because his young mind couldn’t fully grasp the situation. “They’ll get help for us, once this gets out,” 

Stan laughed, humorless. His eyes were bloodshot. “Look, Ike.” 

Ike turned to stare out of the clear glass encasement in front of them, out into more halls of white and unease. 

There were humans, there. 

“The government’s already here.” 

Over time, they managed to grasp the situation. From glimpses of conversation, from inferences. 

This was experimentation-- they wanted to study them, look at their insides, assess their behaviors, their bonds, their limits for pain. 

The government knew. Or rather, they didn’t seem to mind. There was a lot of speculation that passed, many musings of what anyone could possibly gain from this. 

Eventually, the most popular theory was the one of appeasement. The notion that these beings were so powerful, so strong, that a deal was struck so as to ensure the safety of everyone else outside of their small town. 

After all, the government had been attempting to keep South Park under wraps for years. Strange things happened, unsettling things, things that would make anyone with a right mind panic. 

Maybe it was for the better that the citizens of their town were made to disappear. Maybe then, the government wouldn’t have to extend so much of their energy with constant unnatural happenings and last minute plans of containment.

It was all a game of damage control. 

South Park didn’t house many people who were in their right mind. 

Many died, and yet, there they still remained. 

Ike was sharing a room with Kenny, one night. 

He asked, “Do you think that they’re still out there?” Ike shifted in his uncomfortable cot, readjusting to face his blonde haired companion. “Everyone else that got left back home?” 

Kenny smiled. 

“Yeah,” 

“But why?” 

The blonde had shrugged, but he seemed comforted, somehow. “I’d just know.” 

Ike startled, his vision reeled, and suddenly he was on his knees, five years older, staring at his hands in the grass in front of him. 

Tricia was laying on her back next to him, breathless, gazing at him with wonder. “You got them back too, didn’t you?” 

The phrasing threw Ike off, and his brother’s past screaming face flashed behind his eyes. “Huh?” 

“Your memories.” Tricia leaned forward, “You had more to get back than I did, I guess, so it took you a lot longer to come to. Your eyes were back in your head, it wasn’t pretty.” 

Ike surveyed the camp, surprised at the vacancy. “Where…?”

“You’ll never believe who’s back in town.” Tricia stood, holding her hand out for Ike to take. She pulled him onto his feet, “Damien. Kenny summoned him after Craig killed Jimbo,” 

“Huh?” Ike shook his head, still fresh in the aftermath of an overload to his brain. He was still recalling his memories in their exact order-- attempting to un-jumble them, to make sense while they settled in their rightful places. 

“The son of Satan,” Tricia’s eyes blazed, “Kenny made a deal to get our memories back. A contract-- he might be able to get us out of this, Ike,” 

Ike was at a loss for words. 

“Come on, come on. Damien is going to get us out of here, he will.” Tricia grinned, genuine, disbelieving. 

Ike startled, “Doesn’t a deal come with a price?” 

“Life comes with a price.” Tricia snapped. 

Given their lives thus far, Ike supposed the sentiment was fair enough. 

Wendy, having regained her own recollection of the past, had immediately encouraged everyone to speak with one another freely to decipher the full picture. After all, a single person’s memory was only a shard of the truth, and by putting their heads together, they managed to understand how everything had happened the way it did. 

Wendy would have been a bit more surprised to see Damien if it weren’t for the idea that they were in the middle of government abandonment. 

It would seem that nothing could surprise her anymore. 

“Damien, since you ‘ _know all_ ’”, Wendy’s tone betrayed her annoyance, “can you tell us if we’ve figured this out correctly?” She fought the urge to shutter at the intensity of his red stare. 

Stan placed a hand on her shoulder, “Wends, come on, you’ve heard what everyone who's been taken has remembered. That’s the only explanation, we know this, we used to talk about it all the time,” 

“We have to make sure before we act any further.” Kyle closed his eyes, “It’s a lot harder to see a way out of this, now. Especially with the knowledge that the rest of our families didn’t make it out of the experiments alive. We can’t risk them taking anyone again,” 

“On the c-con-contrary, Kyle.” Jimmy leaned his weight against his crutches, “We’ve never had a better sh-shot.” 

“Jimmy’s right.” Heidi’s voice was hoarse, “With Damien here, we can figure a way out.” 

“Are all of you forgetting the fact that he’s the literal devil?” Cartman snarled, “We can’t trust him! This could be a setup, we don’t know that he didn’t just give us these memories to manipulate what we do!” 

Damien sighed, as if listening to the rant of a child, “And what would I gain from that?” 

“Kinny said it himself, deals get you power!” 

“I could get deals anywhere. Don’t fool yourself with false ideas of self importance.” 

Kenny nudged Cartman’s side, “You’ll offend him, Damien doesn’t like to be told he’s not doing his job right.” 

The devil in question snorted, “I do not need the likes of you to speak on my behalf.” 

“Told you.” Kenny whispered. 

“Wait, enough with that.” Wendy waved her hand, “Damien, I’d like to make a deal. A deal where you confirm the truth to our circumstances, just to make sure we know what we’re dealing with.” 

Kyle startled, “Wendy, don’t you think that’s too rash?” 

Her dark hair bounced as she shook her head, “There are a good number of us that will have to sell our souls to get out of here, right? I wouldn’t want to be left out.” Wendy’s eyes darkened, “Plus, I’m sure I could keep the souls of the undead in check.” 

Stan tottered on his feet, uncomfortable, “I mean, Kenny’s been getting to know him all this time, right? If he did it, I guess anyone can,” 

Damien removed the glove covering his impossibly lifeless skin, all white and greyed and dull, and Wendy met his grasp with the warmth of her pink fingers. 

Once the bright crimson around her began to dim, Damien spoke once more. 

“You were correct in your assumptions.” He continued, disinterested, “Your flawed human government had been wanting to keep surveillance upon your anomaly of a town for some time. Once the opportunity was presented, they accepted gladly.” 

“Okay, then what’s the plan from here?” Clyde stretched his limbs, cowering away from Damien’s line of attention behind Craig’s gangly form, “Knowing that is fine and all, but we need a plan to get out of here.” 

“Not just that,” Token stroked his chin in thought, “But a plan for once we’re out, too. We have to figure out how we’ll manage to even survive, we have nothing to our names.” 

Damien opened his arms, smirking in a menacing, unwelcome kind of way. “I am the key to your solutions. I will not make the offers myself. Extend yourselves to reach your plan of escape,” 

“Then I’ll go first.” Token sighed, obviously unenthused at the idea of condemning himself to Damien’s will, “I’ll form a contract with you if you ensure the success of our lives once we’re out of this hellhole.” 

Damien’s brow pinched, “Your desire lacks specification. I will exert much of my time into ensuring this, so I ask for another one of your comrades to join this contract with you.” 

“So you mean that the deal will cover everyone, but only Token and someone else will be bound to the contract itself?” Wendy questioned, somehow still doubtful despite all she’d seen. 

Damien didn’t offer any words, growing impatient, and only nodded. 

“Alright.” Stan affirmed himself with a step forward, “I’ll do it.” 

“You, too?” Kyle stressed his bottom lip between his teeth, and Wendy ran her nails lightly along his exposed arm to console him. 

Despite the anxiety that came with forming supernatural deals at the price of your soul, more agreements were formed nonetheless, and suddenly things were progressing rather quickly. 

They only had so many chances to perfect their escape. 

From there, more schemes began to take shape, more debates on just how, exactly, they would pull it all off. What deals should be made, who should make them, how they would accomplish it all. 

Eventually, the discussion settled. 

They retired to their huts early, exhausted from the strain of the knowledge they regained. 

Damien left them, having gained a decent amount of power for the contracts gathered. He’d never admit it, but they truly weren’t all that beneficial. 

There was just an irritating part of him that wanted to see them set free. 

For the first time in a long time, hope was brewing in the depths of Wendy’s doubts, and she had always held plenty. 

They had a plan. A good one-- one that would allow them to leave the pain, the suffering, the misery-- all of it behind. 

Tomorrow, come daybreak, they would live. 

Kevin McCormick had been somewhat in the midst of something, before he was summoned. 

That is to say, he was busy lingering by and watching the reunion of a family, none wrongdoers--(but none Mormon, either), happy to be with one another once more. 

Kevin had made a point to avoid anyone he knew during his living days once they joined the community down under. And while he’d never admit it, sometimes, only sometimes, did he miss the company of those who he distanced himself from, or those still living. 

He didn’t have time to avert his thoughts before one nosy British bastard forced his presence to be planted in that annoyingly decorated office of his. 

Just why, exactly, Pip Pirrip of all fucking residences possessed this kind of ability, Kevin McCormick wasn’t sure. Evidently, the son of Satan had deemed this chipper idiot worthy of the power. 

It was certainly irritating as all hell. 

“Didn’t you already get what you wanted out of me?” Gruff, Kevin crossed his arms. “I saw Kenny, he kicked me in the nuts. I’m sure you loved that, didn’t you?”

Pip sat happily upon his desk, legs swinging, “You know, Kevin, many people here come to feel sorry for their past choices through various programs we have here in Hell reviewing their life,” 

Kevin opened his mouth to offer profanities, but was never given the chance. 

“However, not a single one has worked for you. In fact, I find that your time here has been quite lonely, hasn’t it?” Pip sighed dramatically, “Not a friend, nor family… I wonder, what do you spend your days doing, hm?” 

Kevin clenched his fists, “This is pointless. If I’m only here for you to fuckin’ make fun of me--” 

“Oh! But that’s just not it at all!” Pip hopped off from his work desk, still feigning his innocence, eyes glinting. “I just thought that perhaps you’d want a better look at your friends up above,” 

“I don’t.” Kevin scoffed. 

“Really? That’s interesting. Of course, it figures you’d say that. It must be so frustrating to you,” Pip grinned, “Seeing as how they’re getting to do what you never could.” 

Kevin didn’t want to play these games. “I don’t care, fuck, just let me--” 

Pip gasped, “Oh, how very delightful! It looks like they’ve begun. Isn’t it wonderful, Kevin?” He clasped his hands together and swayed, “They’re going to escape, aren’t they? Oh, but that’s so sad for you. How unfortunate, you must be jealous!” 

Kevin swivelled his head to examine the screen displayed in front of him, hoping that if he just humored the blonde for a moment longer he’d be set free.

It was Craig, and Karen’s friend Tricia, that greeted him. With arms full of matches and gasoline, they exchanged a grin, and their figures were lost to the flames. 

“Jesus Christ, that’s a shitty way to die. What, they’re all committing mass suicide?” 

Pip hummed. “Not quite. Think a little harder, won’t you?” 

Through the dancing oranges and reds, two frames stood, examining themselves with disbelief if only for a moment, before they made a move towards town. 

Kevin jerked, “They’re not burning,” 

“You sure are clever, aren’t you?” Pip sipped on his cup of tea pointedly. “I believe Damien made good use of that generous soul of his.” 

The eldest McCormick brother scoffed, despising the way he was being talked down to, as if he were some sort of insolent child. 

Sure, he had died at sixteen. But his soul had lived past that, now, and all he wanted was to outgrow his living self and the actions he couldn’t escape. 

Kevin didn’t regret what he did.

Maybe that was why he sought out to be alone. 

Still, he could have left by now. 

For some reason, he stayed. 

“A distraction.” Kevin snorted, “Like that’ll hold them up against fucking aliens. Jesus, I’ve always been glad I died without any of that bullshit,” 

His British companion didn’t offer any sort of remark at this, only blinked slowly at the scene unfolding before them. 

Smoke was curling upwards into the sky, burning what remained of the town of South Park to ashes. They carried small bags of items on their backs, running through a smoke screen that made it difficult for them to be seen even by the dead. 

Overhead, they were coming. Luminous metal, flashing lights, looking in search of their experiment gone awry. 

Three figures drew their attention. 

Nichole sprinted towards Stark’s Pond, dodging flaming branches and coughing against the smoke. 

Jimmy, who was assumed to be an easy target, was in the process of ushering towards camp, before being caught up in the light that shadowed his escape. 

Kenny, too, had been running. Making a break for the center of town, where the deranged adults had finally been put out of their utter misery, fallen victim to the fiery smog. 

Kevin wasn’t quite sure what they were playing at, but he tensed at the sight of his brother, conflicted. 

Pip sighed, “Let’s check in somewhere else.” The monitor changed to reveal a different sort of group, the ones with their belongings on their backs, making a break towards the northernmost point of the wall that encased their smoldering, caving mountain town. 

It had been weakened from fire, weakened enough to be busted through. A gaping, fiery hole was permitted, large enough to fit through unscathed, but crumbling more by the second. 

Soon, it would collapse. 

Two hellish looking portals opened just behind the rest of their assembly, allowing for Nichole and Jimmy to regroup, having been successful in leading their captors away from where they were escaping. 

Some were still missing. 

As they charged through the falling hole with cheers and hollers of victory, Pip changed the perspective once more. 

Craig was located outside of his childhood love’s home, pleading. 

A ghost of a mother stood still, with a sad, empty smile along her face. 

“It’s awfully hot today, don’t you think, Craig?” Her head hung low, “Have you seen Tweek recently? I miss him,” 

Tricia tugged along his arm, “We don’t have time for this, Craig. We’re fireproof, not invincible. If the wall collapses--” 

“I know!” Craig strained, “Please,” he outstretched his hand, “Come with us,”

“I miss my son.” Her facade began to crack, “I miss my husband,” 

Craig retracted his hand, and turned away. 

“I believe I’ll rest for now. Just a while longer,” 

The pair of siblings broke into a run for the wall. 

“Just a while longer,” The mother whispered, before falling back into the flames of her home. 

The scene shifted, and Kevin was witnessing his brother, with tendrils of soot clinging to his frame, with feet pounding desperately against the churned earth, as he led the cause of their misery to the heart of the fire. 

Kenny’s face was illuminated with the flickering colors, and his hair was singed. Parts of his clothes had already been burnt away, and Kevin just knew that the absolute asswipe had been planning something like this for years, now. 

“I absolutely hate you fuckers for this one!” Kenny grimaced, but his eyes were alight, “It’s going to hurt like a bitch,” 

Kenny dove into the heat, fingers brushing towards a small, hellish scribble along the soil, before the ground shook with the impact of utter combustion. 

Somewhere along the line, Kenny had permitted his body to act as a living bomb. 

The metal crafts couldn’t rear back in time, and the fire permeated the light that encompassed them, until all that remained were deafening explosions and the screeching of metal as it wilted into nothing. 

They had done it. 

Kevin watched them. 

They stared out into the oncoming sunrise and danced. They laughed, teary, singing songs and offering hugs, not caring about their wounds, or about the town they had charred and left desolate. 

Kevin could have screamed. 

It felt as though he were dying all over again. 

The sheer amount of frustration, of fury, that overtook his body was enough for him to positively kill someone, should he possess the ability to murder the dead. 

Behind him, Pip cackled with delight. 

“All you had to do was wait, and that could have been you!” 

Fire. 

They had only ever used fire. In the wake of Kevin’s death, he had thought of the flames as his justice. 

It was different, now. They weren’t just flames of destruction. 

This was their rebirth, like phoenixes from the ashes, they would get the lives none of them believed they could. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t, it just-- 

“Well, well, well.” 

Kevin knew that voice. 

Kenny stood, smug, within the edges of the door frame. Behind him, the heir of Hell himself seemed rather pleased with the amount of chaos that he had reigned upon the mortal realm. 

“Looks like we pulled it off, after all. Who would’ve thought?” 

Kevin couldn’t gather the words to respond. 

In truth, he could only laugh. 

Kyle looked off into the rolling, lush hills of green and sunrise, and felt a simmering of something beautiful stirring within him. 

Kyle hadn’t thought about hope for a long time. 

That is to say, if anyone asked him whether or not he consciously hoped for a better future, it would be no lie to say the effort was never made. 

But, standing there and watching the sun catch onto the land, with the friends he valued most, with the people who had been with him through it all, he found it. 

The future. He wanted to live to see it, now. 

Kyle wondered what it would be like. 

“Alright. Is everyone ready to go?” Stan brushed his fingers through his hair. 

There were various noises of affirmation, with one Leo being particularly excited, wondering aloud about when Kenny would be able to rejoin them once more. 

“Next stop is Denver.” 

Kyle had gotten used to the loneliness that plagued him. The idea that they were trapped, that they would never leave, that they were forever damned to their fate-- he had accepted it. 

It was difficult to grasp, to take those steps forward that led him away from what used to be his homely little town of South Park. 

The sun made its way across the sky, streaking those familiar hues of orange and gold. 

They never looked back. 

Not even once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy smokes. 
> 
> Firstly, I’d like to apologize for such a HUGE delay in time between this chapter and my last one. I’ll save my excuses, but I’m thankful to have finally gotten around to posting the finale. 
> 
> Please leave your thoughts and comments on the story! This was my first work for sp, and I’m always looking to improve. 
> 
> I thought about doing an epilogue chapter and posting it with this, but decided that I was happy with how this ended. Who knows though, could always happen! For those of you who were wondering, it was just going to be a check in to see how everyone was doing in the future—some ideas included Kyle, Wendy, Stan and Ike in Canada, Craig working as a religious youth counselor who summons his imp boyfriend during breaks, and a few more ideas :) 
> 
> I feel as though this ending may seem lackluster, but I hope I executed it in a way that was satisfying for you guys to read. It was a struggle to get that feel back after such a long pause, which again, is my bad lol. 
> 
> Thank you so much for supporting this story! Please look forward to more works in the future <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first South Park work, and I’m really excited to post the chapters I have already written. Feedback is always highly appreciated! <3
> 
> I have a tumblr under the same user, come say hi :)


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